1^ 


THE   HOUSE  OF  THE 
FIGHTING-COCKS 


A 


The  HOUSE  of  the 
FIGHTING-COCKS 

By 
HENRY   BAERLEIN 


up 


NEW  YORK 

HARCOURT,  BRACE  AND  COMPANY 


PRINTED    IN    THE    U.    S.    A.    BY 

THE    OUINN    a    BODEN    COMPANY 
RAHWAY.     N.    J. 


To 

It  is  the  pleasant  custom,  as  you  will  remember,  of 
the  Swedes  to  hang  a  garland  round  the  neck  of  those 
who  go  a  journey.  You  have  been  my  comrade  in  a 
thousand  journeys  while  this  book  was  being  written 
and  it  seems  ridiculous  that  I  should  now  suspend  on 
you  these  withering  flowers  of  speech.  And  yet  the 
journeys  did  not  cause  you  inconvenience,  for  you 
never  knew  that  they  were  being  made. 

H.  B. 


2134346 


PREFACE 

Whether  I  shall  die  to-morrow  or  in  twenty  years 
or  thirty  does  not  matter,  for  now  I  have  written  the 
last  word  of  my  book.    It  is  the  fifth  of  June,  1880. 

I  have  accomplished  all  that  God  has  given  me  the 
strength  to  do.*  This  poor  memorial  of  my  friends  of 
long  ago  may  be  more  durable  than  a  stone  monument, 
which  few  regard  until  the  day  comes  when  a  revolu- 
tionary mob  or  General  believe  it  is  the  statue  of  a 
tyrant  and  they  drag  it  down;  this  manuscript  of 
mine  may  cause  my  heroes  to  be  known  more  clearly 
in  the  years  to  come  than  would  a  painting  which  the 
Governor  of  Veracruz,  my  State  in  Mexico's  Republic, 
would  display  to  some  rich  foreigner  who  wishes  to 
exploit  the  country,  and  the  foreigner,  not  caring  what 
the  picture  is,  would  pay  the  Governor  as  if,  indeed, 
it  were  the  picture  of  Two  Early  Saints  by  Fra  An- 
gelico.  Whatever  be  the  fate  of  monuments  or  paint- 
ings in  another  country,  it  is  here  among  the  most 
uncertain;  while  a  manuscript  will  not  be  touched  by 
any  one  who  is  unworthy  to  become  the  friend  of  my 
dear  friend,  Eugenio  Gil. 

It  is  not  seemly  for  a  person  such  as  I  to  say  that 
all  the  world  is  dull,  as  I  have  often  heard  it  said  by 
venerable  men,  when  they  recall  the  stirring  days  in 
which  they  had  a  part.    Assuredly  it  is  to  dullards  that 

*The  Spanish  MS.,  translated  here,  was  found  in  excellent 
condition  at  Jalapa,  in  the  year  191 1.  The  owner  of  the  house 
knew  nothing  of  it.     (Translator's  note.) 

7 


8  PREFACE 

the  world  is  dull — one  ought  to  pity  them — and  for 
myself  the  world  is  not  so  splendid  as  it  was  in  1866 
and  1867.  I  never  had  occasion,  except  once,  to  go 
beyond  the  frontiers  of  the  State  of  Veracruz,  which, 
from  the  palm  lands  by  the  sea,  goes  rolling  up  through 
gorgeous  pasture  and  through  woods  of  everlasting 
green,  up  to  the  distant  shadowy  hills  and  to  the  bril- 
liant snows  on  Orizaba,  the  dead  volcano,  that  is  like  a 
spear  which  threatens  the  blue  vault  of  heaven.  The 
gray  roads  which  the  Spaniards  built  and  the  long 
forest  trails  of  my  own  people  have  been  trodden  by 
the  same  steps,  bold  and  hesitating,  furtive,  thought- 
ful, as  the  wildernesses  or  the  streets  of  other  coun- 
tries; but  for  me,  because  they  have  resounded  to  the 
footsteps  of  the  disciple  of  Noah  and  of  Don  Eugenio 
Gil,  they  seem  the  most  extraordinary  roads  in  all  the 
world. 

So  far  as  I  know,  nothing  has  been  written  of  this 
brave  philosopher,  the  Noahcite,  who  Hved  and  died 
in  Mexico.  The  population  of  Jalapa,  where  his  home 
was,  did  not  try  to  understand  what  he  was  doing,  for 
in  their  opinion  he  was  mad.  I  will  not  venture  to 
make  any  criticism  of  so  strange  a  man,  who  certainly 
was  most  unfortunate;  what  I  can  do  is  merely  to 
repeat,  so  far  as  I  remember  them,  his  glorious  ideas. 
What  occupied  him  was  no  less  than  All  Knowledge, 
in  so  far  as  it  was  known  to  Noah,  for  he  held  that 
ignorance  produces  our  unhappiness,  that  knowledge, 
on  the  other  hand,  means  happiness,  and  that  the 
person  in  whose  head  All  Knowledge  lay  was  Noah. 
I  am  well  aware  that  many  people  think  it  is  an  idle 
thing  to  want  to  have  All  Knowledge  in  one's  head,  to 
be,  in  fact,  a  pantologist  (one  who  studies  or  is  versed 
in  universal  knowledge),  and  they  would  unhesitatingly 
reject  the  system  of  our  patron.    He  was  pleased  to 


PREFACE  9 

tell  Eugenio  Gil  and  me  that  he  was  happy,  owing  to 
the  work  on  which  he  was  engaged.  And  it  was  his 
firm  intention  to  bestow  the  gift  of  happiness  on  every- 
body, after  he  had  made  himself  the  perfect  master 
of  it.  You  will  learn  with  deep  regret  that  he  was  exe- 
cuted for  conspiracy  in  the  State  of  Tamaulipas. 

As  for  Don  Eugenio  Gil — if  Spain  had  only  sent  us 
more  like  him!  "With  the  passing  of  the  years,"  says 
the  Friar  Gregorio  de  la  Concepcion  Melero  y  Pina, 
"death  comes  to  our  passions,  and  our  prejudices  are 
extinguished  and  a  path  is  made  for  truth  into  the  souls 
of  men  who  go  in  search  of  it  with  a  good  will."  My 
master,  Don  Eugenio,  had  a  good  will,  and  if  he  had 
lived  longer  then  the  passions  which  so  hampered  him 
might  have  been  utterly  destroyed.  Whatever  I  have 
learned  of  letters  I  acquired  from  him.  And  if  he  had 
not  been  so  tossed  about  the  v/orld,  I  think  he  would 
have  been  like  famous  doctors  in  the  books;  but  never 
like  the  Doctor  Canizares,  who  is  now  remembered 
on  account  of  having  fed  his  pupils  on  an  onion  and  a 
little  bread,  and  sometimes  on  a  stew  of  goats'  feet. 

Men  whom  God  has  made  austere  may  think  my 
master  was  too  self-indulgent,  but  he  was  not  hard  on 
any  one.  He  did  not  in  the  least  resemble  those 
unpleasant  people  who  deny  themselves  all  pleasures 
here  on  earth  in  order  that,  when  they  are  dead,  they 
may  be  famous.  And  he  was  wont  to  say  that  God, 
who  made  the  grandeur  of  the  universe,  could  certainly 
have  made  him  a  much  better  man,  if  that  had  been 
His  will. 


CHAPTER  I 

My  name  Is  Juan  de  Dios  Eusebio  de  la  Concha,  for 
my  father  was  a  pious  man,  a  breeder  of  fightmg-cocks, 
who  was  a  friend  of  the  great  de  la  Concha  family, 
although  my  father  was  a  native  of  the  country,  an 
Indian,  and  they  were  Spanish. 

It  was  in  the  village  of  Colorado  that  we  lived,  and 
all  the  neighboring  country,  as  far  up  as  Jalapa,  used 
to  buy  its  fighting-cocks  from  my  dear  father,  so  that 
he  became  more  prosperous  than  any  one,  he  thought, 
of  our  ancestors.  But  he  said  that  he  would  always 
remain  in  the  village,  no  matter  how  great  he  might 
become,  for  it  was  in  the  middle  of  his  district,  and 
indeed  he  was  regarded  as  the  chief  man  of  Colorado. 
Our  wooden  house  was  not  very  large,  but  it  was  the 
largest,  with  a  balcony  on  the  first  floor  and  iron  bars 
at  some  of  the  windows,  like  the  fine  houses  at  Jalapa, 
and  in  front  of  it  there  was  a  long  veranda.  So  the 
travelers  from  Veracruz,  who  came  on  horse-back  or 
on  mule-back  or  in  litters  or  in  shaky  carriages,  would 
sleep  at  our  house  if  they  had  to  stop  at  Colorado. 
And  my  father  was  the  only  person  in  the  village  who 
subscribed  to  a  newspaper;  he  kept  them  in  a  room 
downstairs  and  for  the  benefit  of  travelers  who,  even 
if  they  were  escorted  by  a  military  troop,  fell  often 
into  ambuscades  where  bandits  robbed  them  of  their 
clothes.  The  newspaper,  which  also  came  from 
Veracruz,  was  not  very  strong,  so  that  my  father 
would  not  let  me  touch  it.    But  he  told  me  that  some 

II 


12    THE  HOUSE  OF  THE  FIGHTING-COCKS 

day  I  must  learn  how  to  read,  because  our  family  was 
growing  rich,  and  thus  if  any  traveler  who  was  forced 
to  buy  a  newspaper  consented  to  instruct  me  in  the 
letters,  then  my  father  sold  it  him  or  her  more 
cheaply.  That  is  how  I  came  to  be  the  only  person 
in  all  Colorado,  with  the  exception  of  the  priest,  who 
knew  the  alphabet;  for  Senor  Gonzalez,  the  shopkeeper 
on  the  opposite  side  of  the  road,  and  Captain  Bartolme 
Robledo,  the  old  man,  regretted,  as  they  told  my 
father,  that  they  had  not  had  a  father  such  as  he  was. 

My  mother  was  a  very  thoughtful  woman;  she  used 
to  tell  my  father  nearly  every  day  that  all  things  have 
their  end  and  that  perhaps  his  wealth  would  leave  him. 

But  he  used  to  stroke  her  anxious  face  and  laugh  at 
her.  It  was  to  him  like  some  old  funny  story  which 
we  love  to  have  repeated.  "Mother  Guadalupe,"  he 
would  say  to  her,  "I  tell  you  that  you  are  the  pearl 
of  women." 

She  was  always  shaking  her  dear  head  when  I  played 
soldiers  with  my  father.  What  he  did  was  to  shout: 
"Psh!  psh!"  and  what  I  did  was  to  fall  flat  on  my 
stomach — that  was  the  whole  game  and  I  loved  to 
play  it. 

"You  will  train  him,"  quoth  she,  "to  be  a  warrior 
and  then  he  will  go  out  from  here  and  be  killed. 
Thank  the  holy  saints,"  she  said,  "that  you  have 
money  and  our  Juanito  need  not  go  to  fight  for  any 
of  them.  It  is  wicked  money  that  one  makes  in 
that  way." 

"There  is  plenty  of  it,"  laughed  my  father.  "If 
you  are  a  man  on  one  side  you  can  always  sell  the 
guns  and  powder  to  the  chieftain  of  the  other  side. 
But  our  son  is  not  going  to  be  a  common  soldier." 

Yet  she  was  not  satisfied.  "Father  Pedro,"  she 
would  say,  "the  holy  ones  do  not  look  down  with 


THE  HOUSE  OF  THE  FIGHTING-COCKS     13 

favor  on  a  fighting  man,  except  if  he  be  fighting  for 
the  faith.  I  know  very  well,"  she  said,  "that  all  their 
proclamations,  whether  they  be  Juarez  generals  or 
generals  who  would  kill  him,  or  great  foreign  generals 
of  the  Emperor  Maximilian,  I  know  that  all  of  them 
announce  that  they  are  fighting  on  the  side  of  God, 
and  some  of  them  are  liars  and  that  is  why  they  are 
killed,"  said  my  mother. 

"Or  because  they  don't  fall  on  their  stomachs," 
said  my  father.  "Anyhow,  while  there  is  wind  in  the 
palm  tree,  as  they  say,  so  long  will  the  women  cajole 
us,  and  you  are  the  pearl  of  women." 

It  was  impossible  for  my  poor  mother  to  invoke  the 
priest,  because  he  was  so  friendly  with  my  father;  he 
was  one  of  those  who  bought  the  cocks,  and  on  a 
Sunday,  when  the  Mass  was  over,  he  would  come  with 
all  of  us  into  the  space  which  is  in  front  of  the  shop  of 
Seiior  Gonzalez.  After  the  Mass,  he  said,  he  was  like 
other  citizens.  Thus  he  would  never  tell  my  father 
what  the  holy  ones  might  have  against  him.  "You 
are  a  good  woman,"  he  used  to  say  to  my  mother, 
"for  when  you  are  kneeling  down  in  the  church  I  have 
seen  you  keep  your  arms  stretched  out  for  five  or  six 
minutes.  And  how  v/ould  you  have  me  declare  that 
the  holy  saints  are  angry  with  a  man  for  being  a  soldier 
or  pretending  to  be  one?  Do  not  we,  the  reverend 
priests,  accompany  the  troops?"  He  smiled  at  her  in 
his  weak,  amiable  way. 

The  village  was  like  any  other,  with  fine  palm  trees 
and  all  sorts  of  other  trees  and  cactus.  Here  and 
there,  among  the  trees,  were  houses  built  of  painted 
wood,  all  kinds  of  colors.  That  one  of  the  Senor 
Gonzalez  was  the  meeting-place;  my  father,  when  he 
was  not  somewhere  else  to  do  his  business,  liked  to  sit 
outside  it  in  the  night,  with  other  players.    Our  own 


14    THE  HOUSE  OF  THE  FIGHTING-COCKS 

house  was  opposite,  and  even  if  we  had  not  seen  him 
underneath  the  flaring  lamps  we  should  have  known 
that  he  was  there,  because  he  laughed  so  heartily.  My 
mother  said  that  even  if  he  lost  his  money  at  the  game 
he  would  be  laughing — and  we  Mexicans  are  such  a 
silent  race — she  never  knew  if  he  had  won  or  lost,  so 
that  her  hatred  for  Gonzalez  was  intense.  She  would 
lean  out  from  the  low  window  of  her  dark  room  for 
an  hour  or  two  hours  at  a  time,  and  when  my  father 
had  returned  she  spoke  against  Gonzalez. 

"Nonsense!"  cried  my  father.  "What  should  we 
do  without  him?  And  I  told  him  just  this  evening 
that  you  are  the  pearl  of  women,  and  he  said  it  was 
the  truth." 

Of  course  my  father  did  not  spend  a  very  large  part 
of  his  time  in  playing  games  with  me  or  playing  at  the 
shop.  His  business  occupied  him,  and  it  grew  so  large 
that  he  was  sorry  I  had  learned  to  read,  he  said,  be- 
cause it  would  not  be  a  seemly  thing  if  I  continued 
merely  as  a  man  of  business.  What  I  was  to  be  he  did 
not  know,  but  something  grander  than  himself  at  any 
rate. 

One  day  when  he  came  from  a  journey  he  informed 
my  mother  that  he  had  a  plan  for  me.  He  was  more 
grave  than  I  had  ever  seen  him,  and  he  sat  down  on 
the  floor,  as  if  we  had  no  chairs.  Then  he  reached  up 
and  took  my  hand  and  started  smoothing  it,  while  I 
was  wondering  why  his  own  hand  trembled  so. 

"Is  it  that  you  have  been  robbed  on  this  journey? 
Did  they  take  the  cocks  or  else  your  money?"  asked 
my  mother. 

"Oh,  you  always  think  the  worst  at  once,"  he 
said. 

"And  now  you  want  to  make  our  only  son  a  brigand. 
It  is  profitable,  certainly,  but  they  will  never  take  him 


THE  HOUSE  OF  THE  FIGHTING-COCKS     15 

into  heaven,  and  with  sleeping  on  the  mountain-tops 
and  all  those  places  he  will  catch  a  chill.  Father 
PedrO;  .  .  ." 

''By  the  saints!"  he  said,  "it  is  all  wrong  what  you 
are  saying.  I  have  settled  that  when  travelers  come 
to  the  house  they  shall  behold  our  Juanito  reading  in 
the  newspapers,  and  when  they  see  it  they  will,  some 
of  them  will,  offer  him  a  post,  and  if  it  is  a  good 
post  .  .  ." 

"He  shall  never  go  away  from  Colorado!"  she  ex- 
claimed, and  there  she  stood  in  front  of  us,  seeming 
much  taller  than  usual,  and  with  her  sad  eyes  glit- 
tering. 

But  from  that  day  when  there  was  a  traveler  who 
stopped  with  us  I  nearly  always  found  occasion  to  dis- 
play my  talents.  I  would  sit  beside  the  table  where 
they  ate  and,  with  the  newspaper  spread  out  before 
me,  read  aloud.  Sometimes  they  complimented  me  or 
gave  me  little  presents,  and  sometimes  a  lady  kissed 
me;  sometimes  they  were  furious,  when  there  was 
nothing  yet  for  them  to  eat,  and  sometimes  they  sat 
talking  the  more  loudly.  "When  that  is  what  they  do," 
said  my  father,  "it  is  because  they  cannot  read."  He 
waited  patiently  for  one  to  come  who  would  give  ex- 
cellent advice  or  even  take  me  with  him  to  the  glory 
I  deserved. 

The  newspaper  I  read  was  always  the  same  one,  as 
they  were  so  valuable  in  the  way  I  have  explained 
before.  You  might  suppose  that  all  the  people  of  the 
village  would  be  eager  for  me  to  read  out  to  them 
what  each  new  paper  said,  but  the  people  of  a  village 
do  not  change  their  habits  quickly,  and  in  years  gone 
by  they  had  not  felt  the  need  of  any  paper.  And  in 
all  the  village,  with  the  exception  of  the  few  books 
of  the  priest,  there  was  only  one  book,  which  had 


i6    THE  HOUSE  OF  THE  FIGHTING-COCKS 

formerly  belonged  to  Captain  Bartolme,  and  now  was 
mine.  He  gave  it  me  because  he  said  he  was  no 
student.  It  had  fallen  into  his  possession  when  he 
plundered  a  dead  officer,  and  since  it  dealt  with 
stately  Spanish  dances,  and  he  was,  he  said,  a  patriot 
and  also  could  not  dance,  he  thought  it  would  be 
better  if  he  gave  it  me.  You  may  be  sure  that  I  was 
proud  of  it,  and  so  was  my  father;  in  fact,  the  old 
captain  seemed  always  now  to  have  a  place  at  our 
table,  and  at  the  end  of  the  meal  he  enveloped  in  his 
cloak  such  articles  of  food  as  lay  about  him,  just  as  if 
it  was  some  sweet  that  he  was  taking  to  his  children. 
At  his  house,  my  father  said,  there  was  no  food  at  all, 
for  he  had  been  abandoned  by  the  Government,  and 
Enriqueta,  that  woman  who  looked  after  his  house, 
was  nearly  starving.  I  think  before  he  gave  me  the 
Book  of  IDances  poor  Captain  Bartolme  was  wont  to 
come  a  little  time  before  a  meal,  and,  rocking  to  and 
fro  in  his  chair,  to  relate  a  story  of  how  he  had  dis- 
persed the  enemies  of  Mexico.  It  was  a  long  tale, 
and,  with  rare  exceptions,  he  was  not  obliged  to  go 
through  more  than  half  of  it  before  the  dishes  were 
brought  in,  and  he  sat  down  among  the  rest  of  us. 
But  now,  if  perchance  my  father  was  not  in  good 
spirits,  he  had  only  to  strike  an  attitude  which  came 
out  of  the  book,  and  usually  he  had  not  even  to  do 
that. 

Then,  one  day  in  the  hot  season  of  1866,  I  had  been 
lying  with  some  other  children  underneath  a  tree,  and 
we  had  been  amusing  ourselves  with  making  patterns 
of  dust  on  each  other's  bodies,  when  I  saw  a  traveler 
in  black  arrive  and  look  all  round  him,  searching  for 
a  man,  because  it  was  the  hour  when  people  rest.  And 
then  he  slowly  mounted  the  veranda  of  our  house; 
I  saw  that  he  was  very  tired,  but  it  was  my  duty  to 


THE  HOUSE  OF  THE  FIGHTING-COCKS     17 

read  pieces  of  the  paper  to  him  and  I  got  up  also, 
feeling  that  it  was  a  most  intolerable  burden  to  be 
some  one  so  instructed. 

As  he  heard  me  he  turned  round.  His  face  was  a 
dull  red,  and  there  was  something  very  mournful  in 
his  eyes.  "My  son,"  quoth  he,  "I  am  in  great  need 
of  a  cup  of  water."  He  was  not  as  old  as  my  father, 
but  the  hair,  which,  being  wet,  clung  to  his  forehead 
in  large  curls,  was  gray. 

It  is  extraordinary,  when  I  come  to  think  of  it,  that 
I,  in  total  nakedness,  was  not  at  all  embarrassed  by 
this  stranger.  But  he  was  the  sort  of  man  with  whom 
it  is  impossible  to  be  embarrassed.  For  a  European 
he  was  not  a  tall  man;  yet  he  had  about  him  an  air 
of  magnificence,  and  this  was  not  diminished  by  the 
lower  part  of  his  rather  heavy  face — for  in  repose  it 
smiled,  a  smile  that  altered  from  moment  to  moment, 
a  smile  that  seemed  to  run  out  of  his  mouth  and  to 
play  hide  and  seek  in  the  dimples  of  his  ruddy  chin — 
and  still  less  was  his  magnificence  diminished  by  his 
physical  condition  or  the  dust  which  lay  upon  his  old 
black  suit. 

"It  seems  to  me,"  he  said,  "that  I  can  go  no  further 
till  to-morrow.  You,  with  your  young  legs,  you  cannot 
think  how  tired  I  am." 

I  told  him  I  would  fetch  my  father,  who  was 
sleeping. 

But  he  held  his  hand  up,  a  beautiful  plump  hand. 
"Oh,  by  no  means,"  he  said.  "Let  me  drink  a  cup  of 
water  and  then  show  me  where  to  sleep." 

By  this  time  a  few  of  my  companions  had 
approached  us.  One  of  them  I  sent  for  water.  I 
could  not  break  off  this  wonderful  and  heavenly  con- 
versation, though  now  that  I  have  put  it  down  it  does 
not  seem  so  different  from  others. 


i8    THE  HOUSE  OF  THE  FIGHTING-COCKS 

Presently  my  father  came  out  from  the  house. 
"Senor,"  he  said,  not  caring  that  the  traveler  had  come 
on  foot,  "this  is  the  only  place  for  travelers  in  Colo- 
rado.   But  you  are  in  a  good  humor." 

"Host,"  said  he,  "I  have  got  65  centavos.  Therefore 
I  cannot  ask  for  more  than  half  a  bed." 

"Senor,"  said  my  father,  "from  your  language  I 
perceive  that  you  are  a  Spaniard  from  Spain.  But 
although  I  must  abhor  you,  since  you  were  the  enemy, 
yet  I  have  never  slain  one  while  he  slept  within  my 
house,  which  is  at  the  disposal  now  of  Your  Illustrious 
Person.  Some  of  those  who  come  to  these  lands  out  of 
Spain  do  not  like  the  particular  small  insects  of  our 
beds,  but  you  are  the  determined  traveler.  In  fact," 
said  my  father,  nodding  his  head  rapidly  up  and  down 
— a  way  with  him  when  his  emotions  were  engaged — 
"in  fact,"  said  he,  "I  would  embrace  you  if  I  were  not 
a  poor  Indian  only." 

They  embraced,  with  many  pats  upon  each  other's 
backs,  and  then  they  went  into  the  house  and,  for  a 
time,  I  stayed  among  the  other  children.  We  were 
talking  of  the  traveler,  and  wondering  what  he  might 
be  and  whither  he  was  going,  when  old  Captain 
Bartolme  Robledo,  in  a  state  of  perturbation,  limped 
toward  us.  Was  my  father  at  the  house?  he  shouted. 
When  I  told  him  that  he  was,  the  Captain  uttered  a 
strange  growl  and  hurried  on.  It  was  impossible  for 
us  to  stay  out  in  the  open  air.  We  followed  him. 
And  at  the  door  of  the  large  room  we  stopped.  In 
front  of  us  there  stood  the  Captain,  with  his  arms 
thrown  out  and  talking  in  a  shrill,  abrupt,  and 
incoherent  fashion.  The  fat  traveler  lay  on  a  bed, 
that  is  to  say,  he  propped  himself  on  his  left  elbow; 
with  his  right  hand  he  was  eating  from  a  bowl.  My 
father,  on  a  chair,  looked  up  most  wrathfully  at  the 


THE  HOUSE  OF  THE  FIGHTING-COCKS     19 

old  Captain,  but  his  fingers  did  not  cease  from  plucking 
a  white  hen  that  was  between  his  knees. 

"Gone  away,  entirely  gone,  I  tell  you,"  shouted  the 
old  Captain,  "and  how  am  I  to  find  her?" 

"If  you  will  permit  me,  sir?"  the  traveler  said.  "I 
have  but  lately  come  into  your  country.  My  name  is 
Eugenio  Gil,  once  a  citizen  of  Zaragoza  in  Aragon  and 
once — alas! — librarian  to  the  Bishop's  books.  It  is 
possible — I  know  not — but  it  is  possible  that  I  can  help 
you." 

"She  has  gone!  Her  name  was  Enriqueta.  Oh,  the 
woman !    She — she " 

"Look  you,"  said  my  father,  "is  it  right  that  you 
should  come  disturbing  His  Honor  of  the  books  in  this 
way?    And  it  is  my  house.    You  are  shameless!" 

But  Don  Eugenio  spoke  to  the  Captain  very  seri- 
ously. "It  is  what  we  must  expect,"  he  said.  "They 
are  the  little  clouds  which  make  our  sky  more  beautiful, 
and  then  they  sail  away."  He  dipped  his  leaf  into  the 
bowl  again. 

Don  Bartolme  did  not  know  what  to  say.  Such 
reasoning  as  this  had  never  yet  been  placed  before 
him.  Suddenly  he  turned  and  told  us  children  to  be 
gone.  And  they  all  crept  away,  except  myself.  I 
crouched  down  in  the  corner  of  the  room,  upon  an 
empty  sack  of  oranges.  There  in  the  shade  I  thought 
I  would  escape  attention. 

"Senor,"  said  the  Captain  to  Don  Eugenio,  "it  is 
benevolent  on  your  part,  but — but  have  you  ever  loved 
a  woman  very  much?" 

The  traveler  did  not  reply. 

And  as  the  Captain  started  pacing  up  and  down  the 
room,  "Oh,  name  of  God,"  he  moaned,  "why  did  I 
listen  to  her?  Now  let  all  the  creatures  talk — I  hold 
my  ears.    I  hate  them  all." 


20    THE  HOUSE  OF  THE  FIGHTING-COCKS 

"So  that,  my  friend,"  said  Don  Eugenio,  "you  may 
not  enter  Paradise.  We  have  in  my  part  of  the 
country  an  old  saying  which  the  Arabs  left  behind 
them.  It  is  that  a  talking  bird  has  got  the  Keys  of 
Paradise." 

"Oho!  what  does  he  talk  about?" 

"They  have  not  found  him  yet,"  acknowledged  Don 
Eugenio. 

The  Captain  gave  a  scoffing  laugh.  "A  bird,  for- 
sooth!    Perhaps  you  have  come  here  to  find  him!" 

"And  why  not?"  said  Don  Eugenio  with  a  smile. 
"Do  you  believe  it  is  no  miracle  that  men  can  talk? 
And  if  one  miracle,  why  not  another?" 

"Oh,  this  bird,"  exclaimed  my  father,  holding  up 
the  half-plucked  hen.    "I  wish  I  had  not  slain  it." 

The  old  Captain  laughed.  "What  foolishness!  Mi 
Pedrecito,"  he  said  to  my  father,  "surely  you  don't 
think  .  .  ."  And  turning  round  to  Don  Eugenio  he 
asked,  a  little  anxiously,  "It  is  all  nonsense,  is  it 
not?" 

"At  any  rate,"  said  Don  Eugenio,  "I  think  the  bird 
which  has  the  Keys  will  be  a  very  common  bird." 

I  had  been  lying  on  the  empty  sack  and  nobody 
had  taken  any  notice  of  me.  But  at  this  point  I  was 
ordered  by  my  father  to  be  off  and  dress  myself. 

I  stood  up,  but  my  head  was  hanging. 

"My  little  Andalucian  angel,"  said  Don  Eugenio. 

"Now,"  said  my  father,  "put  your  clothes  on  like 
a  Christian.  In  the  presence  of  this  learned  gentle- 
man of  books  it  is  not  fitting  that  you  should  forget 
your  clothes." 

And,  glancing  up,  I  saw  my  mother  at  the  door 
which  led  into  the  other  room.    Her  mouth  was  open. 

"Yes,"  quoth  Don  Eugenio,  "I  am  a  man  of  books, 
but  not  of  our  books  of  to-day.    You  see  there  is  a 


THE  HOUSE  OF  THE  FIGHTING-COCKS    21 

prejudice  against  us  if  we  would  expose  our  bodies 
that  are  clean  and  lovely  in  the  sight  of  God,  whereas 
in  books  and  newspapers  the  people  may,  with  great 
impunity,  expose  the  dirtiest  of  minds." 

I  had  not  thought  that  he  could  be  so  stern. 

"Senor,"  my  mother  said,  "you  speak  of  news- 
papers. What  do  you  think  of  those  they  make  at 
Veracruz?" 

He  greeted  her  with  a  grave  courtesy,  half-rising 
from  the  bed. 

"Juan  is  the  first  one  of  us  who  has  read  a  news- 
paper," my  mother  said;  "and  do  you  think  he  ought 
to  read?" 

Before  the  traveler  could  reply  my  father  rose  and 
put  his  right  hand  on  my  mother's  shoulder.  In  his 
left  there  swung  the  carcase  of  the  hen.  "She  is  the 
pearl  of  women,"  he  explained,  "but  there  are  things 
she  does  not  understand."    He  smiled  indulgently. 

My  mother  did  not  hesitate  a  moment.  "There  may 
be  some  things,"  she  said,  "that  we  ought  not  to 
know." 

The  traveler  nodded. 

"Here,"  she  said,  "is  one  of  them."  And  going  over 
to  the  painted  box,  in  which  the  fire-arms  and  the 
colored  handkerchiefs  and  old,  dried  palm-leaves  and 
some  iron  stirrups  and  some  other  articles  were  kept, 
she  took  out  the  small  book  on  dancing. 

"As  I  said,"  observed  my  father,  "she  is  what  she 
is,  Senor,  and  I  have  never  wished  to  have  another 
wife.  But  she  is  what  she  is  and  very  little  civilized. 
One  cannot  always  stay  the  same  as  were  one's 
ancestors.  Is  that  not  so?  To  cultivate  your  garden 
and  your  oranges  and  coffee-plants  may  be  extremely 
meritorious,  but  there  is  something,  I  do  not  know 
what,  a  mystery,  a  holy  sentiment,  a  voice  of  God, 


22    THE  HOUSE  OF  THE  FIGHTING-COCKS 

that  sometimes  urges  men  to  rise.  Is  that  not  so? 
And  thus  I  have  become  a  breeder  of  these  fighting- 
cocks." 

My  mother  had  been  holding  out,  for  every  one  to 
see,  the  first  page  of  the  book.  It  had  the  picture  of  a 
lady  dancing  through  a  hoop,  which  hung  so  wonder- 
fully in  the  air.  And  at  the  corners  of  the  page  there 
were  some  roses. 

"Be  careful  with  that  book,"  said  Captain  Bartolme, 
"for  it  is  I  who  gave  it  you." 

"Of  course,  I  know,"  said  my  mother,  "that  this 
woman  looks  as  if  she  were  the  sister  of  the  Holy 
Virgin,  which  they  sell  at  the  Jalapa  fair  for  one  or 
two  or  five  centavos,  and  you  are  safe  in  your  house 
if  you  have  got  a  five-centavo  one.  I  know  this  woman 
looks  as  if  she  were  the  sister,  but  if  I  should  pray  to 
her  and  sing  to  her  when  I  am  weary  in  my  heart,  what 
will  she  do?  I  ask." 

"We  have  been  taught,"  said  Don  Eugenio,  "that 
there  are  holy  ones — some  who  lived  long  ago  and 
some  in  days  more  recent — and  that  if  we  pray  to 
them  they  sometimes  will  appear  to  us.  But  I,  no 
doubt,  because  of  my  innumerable  sins,  have  never 
seen  these  holy  creatures.  I  am  even  as  old  Bernal 
Diaz  the  Conquistador,  who  says  that  though  Saint 
James  came  down  on  a  white  horse  to  help  the  Spanish 
soldiers  at  Otumba,  he,  because  of  his  transgressions, 
could  not  see  him.  Those  whom  I  have  seen  are  holy 
people,  humble  people,  and  I  do  not  pray  to  them  or 
sing  to  them,  but  I  attempt  to  follow  their  example. 
And  if  you  behave  as  does  this  woman  of  the  picture, 
dancing  when  your  heart  is  weary,  you  may  find  it  is 
as  good  as  praying  to  the  Holy  Virgin." 

"So  that  .  .  ."  said  my  mother  in  amazement. 


THE  HOUSE  OF  THE  FIGHTING-COCKS    23 

She  could  think  of  nothing  else  to  say,  and  no  one 
spoke,  because  my  father  and  Don  Bartolme  were 
staring  at  the  traveler,  and  he  was  sitting  upright  on 
the  bed,  his  feet  upon  the  floor.  He  was  knocking 
the  dust  out  of  his  clothes. 

"I  myself,  when  I  was  at  Madrid,"  quoth  he,  "saw 
the  sublime  Coralla,  who  was  endowed  with  calves  of 
iron  and  with  a  magic  power  in  pantomime,  and  she 
could  enter  on  the  scene  and  leave  it  as  she  wished, 
no  matter  what  was  going  on.  Ah,  me!  But  how  she 
danced!" 

"Seiior,"  said  my  mother,  "I  will  brush  your 
clothes  very  well  for  you  after  you  have  taken  them 
off.  And  here  at  Colorado  is  a  priest  who  will  not  let 
us  dance  as  was  the  custom  of  our  ancestors.  He  says 
that  dancing  is  unseemly." 

"Then,"  said  Don  Eugenio,  "he  does  not  know  that, 
ever  since  that  lamentable  accident  which  happened  to 
the  Mariette,  a  dancer  does  not  now  omit  to  put  on 
underclothes.  She  who  first  took  this  precaution  was 
the  good  Camargo,  who  could  execute  six  entrechats 
and  anyhow,  she  never  stumbled,  as  did  Mariette, 
across  an  imitation  window-frame.  Ah,  what  is 
this?" 

It  was  Gonzalez,  owner  of  the  shop,  who  flung  him- 
self into  the  house,  and  his  queer,  smallpoxed  face  was 
working  agitatedly;  his  little  eyes  were  flashing  in  his 
head.  "That  Enriqueta,"  he  began,  "has  come  to  me. 
She  wants  to  live  with  me!  Just  as  I  was  half  sleeping 
in  the  shop  my  woman  enters.    And  from  now  .  .  ." 

"For  all  these  months  .  .  ."  said  the  old  Captain. 
He  did  not  seem  angry,  but  very  sad. 

"Oh,  well,  she  doesn't  want  you,"  said  Gonzalez. 
"Long  ago  and  long  ago  I  asked  her  to  come  to  me, 


24    THE  HOUSE  OF  THE  FIGHTING-COCKS 

because  you  are  not  a  fighting  soldier,  but  a  lame  old 
man.  This  Captain,"  he  explained  to  Don  Eugenio,  "is 
a  soldier  such  as  we  have  many  of  in  Mexico.  When 
it  became  a  question  to  throw  out  the  Spaniards,  forty, 
fifty  years  ago,  there  was  every  kind  of  honor  paid 
to  the  insurgent  heroes:  garlands  round  their  necks 
and  money  for  their  pockets  and  the  perfumed  girls 
of  every  village  for  them,  just  as  if  they  had  been 
Spanish  landlords  of  the  olden  time.  Yes,  all  this  was 
for  the  heroes,  this  or  death.  Many  of  them  fell  into 
the  hands  of  our  oppressors  and  were  slaughtered. 
Many  others  were  more  careful,  like  this  Captain, 
who  .  .  ." 

"I  have  been  in  bloody  battles,"  said  the  Captain, 
with  his  hand  upon  his  heart,  "I  have  indeed." 

"Oh,  hear  him!  That,"  Gonzalez  cried,  "is  what 
I  said  to  Enriqueta,  that  he  was  of  those  who  like  the 
honors  but  will  never  find  their  way  into  a  battle. 
He  is  like  those  peaceful  soldiers  whom  we  also  have, 
senor,  in  Mexico;  as  fast  as  possible  they  sell  the 
powder  and  the  guns  to  their  opponents.  That  is  how 
they  work  for  a  disarmament  and  peace." 

"It  seems  to  me  that  I  have  come  to  a  great  coun- 
try," said  Don  Eugenio. 

"And  this  man  was  about  the  age  of  fifty  years  when 
he  became  an  officer.  He  stole  the  uniform  of  a  cap- 
tain and  that  is  how  .  .  ." 

"But  the  man  was  dead,"  exclaimed  Don  Bartolme 
indignantly. 

"And  then,"  pursued  Gonzalez,  "he  comes  here  to 
Colorado  and  he  lives  upon  the  sunlight  and  on  what 
we  give  him,  and  he  takes  our  Enriqueta.  But  from 
now  she  is  my  woman.  She  is  mine!"  He  grinned 
delightedly  at  all  of  us. 

"Will  you  be  gone,"  my  father  said,  "you  with  your 


THE  HOUSE  OF  THE  FIGHTING-COCKS    25 

vile,  indecent  life?  Here  is  a  gentleman  of  books,  and 
you  disturb  him  with  a  story  out  of  life.  May  yellow 
fever  fall  upon  you!" 

This  was  not  the  way  in  which  my  father  usually 
spoke,  but  so  much  was  he  in  earnest  that  he  made  a 
movement  as  if  he  was  going  to  throw  the  hen  into 
Gonzalez's  face. 

The  shopkeeper  had  never  thought  that  he  would  be 
received  in  this  way.  "Ca!"  said  he,  "I  have  more 
of  politeness.  I  will  not  wish  that  the  yellow  fever  fall 
upon  this  gentleman.  But  if  it  were  to  fall,  I  think  his 
books  would  not  assist  him." 

"That  is  very  probable,"  quoth  Don  Eugenio,  "for 
when  the  Greeks  advised  us  to  suspend  beneath  our 
chins  a  piece  of  vellum  with  some  words  from  Homer's 
Iliad,  they  had  in  mind  not  to  prevent  the  yellow  fever, 
whereof  they  were  ignorant,  but  other  fevers.  May 
I  hope,"  he  added  to  Gonzalez,  "that  you  will  have 
many  years  of  health  and  all  felicity  with  the  good 
lady  Enriqueta?" 

"I  remain  at  the  disDosal  of  your  Honor,"  said 
Gonzalez,  as  he  backed  towards  the  door.  "If  only," 
said  he,  "this  Pedro  does  not  take  her  from  me." 

"I  hope,"  said  my  father,  in  a  trembling  voice,  "that 
I  shall  never  see  you  or  the  woman  again.  And  if  I 
were  you  I'd  keep  her  in  a  cage." 

"Oh,  as  for  that,"  he  laughed,  "she'll  run  away 
from  me  as  fast  as  Captain  Bartolme  can  run."  And 
seizing  the  old  fellow  by  the  arm  he  pulled  him  out  to 
the  veranda.  "Hola!"  he  cried,  "you  don't  want  a 
cage  for  some  of  them.  When  the  bird  is  dead  you 
can  leave  the  cage  open!"  And  he  made  off,  with  his 
arm  round  the  limping  Don  Bartolme. 

His  last  words  may  have  been  directed  against  my 
mother,  but  nevertheless  my  father  turned  to  Don 


26    THE  HOUSE  OF  THE  FIGHTING-COCKS 

Eugenio  and  said,  "Those  are  the  people  of  Colorado. 
And  after  you  are  gone  I  shall  consort  with  them  again. 
It  is  a  miserable  life.  And  thus  it  will  continue  till  I 
die  and  then  for  Juanito,  my  son  whom  you  see  here, 
it  will  be  the  same.  But  I  must  send  him  out  into  the 
world."    And  he  looked  sideways  at  Don  Eugenio. 

"If  you  would  like  me,"  said  the  man  of  books,  "to 
take  him  to  Jalapa?" 

"Seiior,"  said  my  mother,  "when  I  was  outside  the 
room  I  heard  you  say  that  you  are  not  a  rich  man. 
We  have  also  not  as  much  as  the  most  rich  of  all, 
but  God  has  smiled  upon  the  business  of  my  husband. 
We  have  always  a  sufficiency  of  onions  and  brown 
beans  and  coffee,  which  is  very  good,  and  animal  meat 
and  good  pineapples  and  plenty  of  corn  and  also  cigars 
and  papayas  with  agreeable  juice,  and  therefore  if 
your  Honor  will  stay  with  us  .  .  ." 

"Thank  you  very  much,"  said  Don  Eugenio,  "but 
I  am  bound  for  Jalapa,  to  the  house  of  a  Noahcite. 
At  Veracruz  I  heard  of  him,  and  I  believe  that  in  the 
course  of  his  researches  he  will  find  me  useful.  I  have 
wares  that  one  may  often  ta^e  to  market  and  not  sell. 
There  may,  in  fact,  not  be  another  man  of  all  your 
country  who  will  want  me." 

"Why  then  did  you  come  to  Mexico?"  asked  my 
father.  And  when  he  noticed  that  a  shadow  was  on 
Don  Eugenio's  face  he  begged  him  not  to  answer. 

"As  for  Juanito,  who  is  not  without  instruction," 
said  the  traveler,  "and  who  evidently  is  inquisitive — a 
more  important  attribute — I  shall  be  glad  to  take  him 
with  me  if  his  mother  will  consent." 

"You  have  not  yet  mentioned,"  said  my  father,  "if 
you  love  the  fighting-cocks." 

He  held  his  hands  up  in  denial. 

"Well  then,"  said  my  father,  very  resolutely,  "I  will 


THE  HOUSE  OF  THE  FIGHTING-COCKS    27 

pay  in  something  else,  or,  if  you  like,  in  coin.  Yes, 
so  be  it." 

Don  Eugenio  smiled.  "Once  in  my  native  town," 
he  said,  "I  heard  a  story  of  a  lad  who  was  brought 
up  inside  a  monastery.  And  he  never  saw  a  woman 
till  he  went  one  day  to  market  in  a  neighboring 
village,  with  a  monk.  He  saw  some  girls  there,  and 
he  asked  what  they  might  be.  The  monk  said  they 
were  geese.  And  when  the  boy  was  back  inside  the 
monastery  he  seemed  very  mournful,  and  the  monk 
inquired  if  he  was  sick  or  weary.  T  should  like  to  eat 
some  of  those  geese,'  said  the  boy." 

"And  what,"  asked  my  father  with  great  earnestness, 
"what  did  he  do?" 

Said  Don  Eugenio,  "I  told  the  story  as  an  illustra- 
tion of  the  charm  of  ignorance  and  the  peril  of  it. 
And  perhaps  on  the  whole  it  is  better  if  I  let  your  boy 
go  with  me  to  the  market,  though  I  cannot  promise 
that  he  will  not  be  a  sadder  boy  when  he  returns. 
The  money  which  you  kindly  offer  I  will  also  take, 
for  I  will  earn  it  conscientiously.  As  for  the  educa- 
tion, it  will  not  be  in  accordance  with  his  tender 
years.  In  fact,  it  will  be  far  beyond  what  other  boys 
attempt." 

My  father  stroked  my  hair.  "But  go,"  he  said  sud- 
denly, "go  and  dress  yourself." 

"Tell  me,"  said  my  mother,  "what  will  he  do  after 
he  knows  all  that?    What  will  he  do?" 

"Que  hombre!"  said  my  father.  "In  other  lands  it 
may  be  like  this  or  like  that,  but  in  Mexico  there  are 
some  people  underneath  and  some  on  the  top.  It  is 
more  pleasant  to  be  on  the  top,  and  the  way  to  accom- 
plish that  is  by  being  a  learned  man." 

"Oh,  happy  country!"  interjected  Don  Eugenio. 
"What  I  was  going  to  say  was  that  so  much  of  what 


28    THE  HOUSE  OF  THE  FIGHTING-COCKS 

he  overhears  he  will  not  understand,  but  I  think  it  is 
better  that  a  boy  should  wander  in  the  dark  if  he  will 
grope  about,  than  that  he  should  be  always  lolling  in 
the  sunlight.  I  believe  that  you  do  well  to  let  me  have 
your  son,  although  you  do  not  know  me." 

"But,  indeed,  I  know  you,"  said  my  father,  "and 
besides  we  all  of  us  are  in  the  hands  of  God." 

"Amen,"  said  Don  Eugenio;  "and  now  I  think  it 
suitable  that  I  should  say  a  prayer  even  if  I  am  no 
priest." 

My  father  and  my  mother  went  down  on  their  knees, 
and  so  did  I. 

"This  lad,"  quoth  he — his  hands  fell  rather  heavily 
upon  my  head — "this  lad  is  now  committed  to  the 
care  of  me,  Eugenio  Gil,  Thy  wicked  servant.  And 
I  pray  that  Thou  wilt  mercifully  guide  me  so  that  I 
may  lead  him  well.  Thou  wilt  not  blame  us  in  that 
we  have  been  impetuous,  for  it  is  Thou  who  knewest 
of  it  since  the  world  began  that  we  should  meet  and 
that  we  should,  for  good  or  evil,  but  I  hope  for  good, 
set  out  together." 

"Excuse  me,"  said  my  mother,  "I  am  not  a  learned 
one.    I  have  not  understood." 

"And  what  of  that?"  called  my  father,  angrily. 
"Will  you  not  let  His  Honor  proceed  with  the  beau- 
tiful prayer.  God  knows  very  well  what  he  is  talking 
about." 

Don  Eugenio  began  again:  "It  is  my  purpose  so 
to  train  this  boy  that  the  small  seed  of  education 
which  he  has  may  blossom  into  flower  and  be  to  him 
immeasurable  riches  and  perhaps  a  source  of  earthly 
riches  also.  Here  the  seed  would  certainly  be  choked 
by  the  great  Ignorance  around  him;  on  the  other 
hand,  O  God,  I  will  endeavor  not  to  blind  with  too 
much  education,  which  is  only  seeing  further  and  more 


THE  HOUSE  OF  THE  FIGHTING-COCKS    29 

terribly  into  the  forest-labyrinths  of  Ignorance,  I  will 
endeavor  not  to  blind  what  of  Old  Wisdom  may  be 
in  the  boy.  Instead  of  worthless  newspapers  and 
books  on  dancing  he  shall  study  our  good  language 
and  the  Latin  language,  so  that  soon,  in  a  humble 
capacity,  he  will  be  able  to  assist,  I  have  no  doubt,  in 
portions  of  the  work  that  the  Noahcite  of  Jalapa  will 
set  before  me.  The  idea  of  an  assistant  did  not  come 
to  me,  and  thus  I  have  not  had  to  wait  for  Juan  during 
anxious  days.    I  thank  Thee." 

"We  have  waited  a  long  time  for  you,"  said  my 
father,  "but  now  you  have  come.  It  is  beautiful, 
beautiful." 

Don  Eugenio  looked  at  him  amiably.  "In  other 
circumstances,  my  dear  host,"  he  said,  "I  should  have 
knocked  in  a  very  woeful  condition  at  the  house  of 
that  Noahcite.  And,  by  the  way,  I  have  not  told  you 
much  about  him — it  is  owing  to  the  fact  that  I  myself 
have  only  heard  a  little.    He  appears  to  be  a  hermit." 

"Juanito  will  be  safe  with  you,"  said  my  father. 

"And  I  ought  to  tell  you  more  about  myself." 

"All  that  can  wait  until  to-morrow,"  said  my 
father.  "I  am  going  now  to  get  some  fireworks  from 
Gonzalez,  such  as  we  have  orders  to  send  up  when 
there  is  a  most  high  procession  of  the  Church  or  when 
there  is  a  grand  procession  for  a  newly-chosen  Gov- 
ernor of  Veracruz,  our  State."  And  having  spoken 
thus,  my  father  rose.  "This  day  shall  not  be  soon 
forgotten,"  he  declared. 

"I  think  we  shall  remember  it  more  joyfully  in  years 
to  come,"  said  Don  Eugenio,  "if  you  do  not  allow 
Gonzalez  to  send  off  the  fireworks  himself." 


CHAPTER  II 

On  the  next  day,  Don  Eugenio  told  the  story  of  his 
life  to  us.  He  and  my  father  and  myself  had  walked 
a  little  distance  out  of  Colorado,  to  a  grove  of  palms. 
I  had  been  very  often  with  my  comrades  in  that  grove 
and  often,  when  it  happened  to  be  my  turn,  as  a 
desperate  Spanish  governor  who  knows  not  how  he  will 
escape  from  the  encircling,  hidden  patriots;  but  I  had 
never  been  so  thrilled  before.  And  Don  Eugenio 
began : 

"At  Zaragoza  I  was  born,"  he  said,  "and  at  an 
early  age  I  found  myself  inside  the  seminary. 
Zaragoza  has  a  restless,  active  population;  but  my 
family,  both  such  of  them  as  lived  in  the  town,  and 
such  as  plied  their  trade  among  the  mountains,  were 
considered  to  be  rather  independent;  and  it  had  been 
settled  that  I  should  become  a  priest,  in  expiation  of 
their  naughtiness.  But  my  instructors  at  the  seminary 
were,  in  a  short  time,  as  little  pleased  as  I  was,  and 
they  told  my  parents  that  there  was  within  me  some- 
thing, if  not  diabolical,  at  any  rate  entirely  different 
from  what  the  Church  demanded.  As  an  instance  of 
my  intractable  spirit,  they  informed  my  parents  that 
when  I  was  told  of  God's  great  anger  with  the 
Israelites  for  worshipping  the  golden  calf  I  was  not, 
like  the  other  boys,  at  all  impressed.  'Anybody  else,' 
I  said,  'would  have  laughed  at  them.'  I  happen  to 
remember  this  one  out  of  the  long  catalogue  of  my 
transgressions;  but  the  priests,  when  they  returned  me, 

30 


THE  HOUSE  OF  THE  FIGHTING-COCKS    31 

said  that  they  were  sorry,  for  there  seemed  to  be  a 
studious  side  to  my  bad  character. 

"My  parents  thereupon  dispatched  me  to  an  uncle 
who  was  one  of  the  most  celebrated  smugglers  of 
Aragon.  His  band  of  ten  or  twelve  devoted  followers 
were  very  kind  to  me,  not  so  much  because  I  was  the 
nephew  of  their  chief  as  that  I  had  been  in  a  seminary, 
for  they  looked  upon  the  Church  with  reverence,  and 
were  on  good  terms  with  the  large  majority  of 
mountain  curates.  Each  of  them,  my  uncle  and  his 
pretty  daughter,  and  the  other  smugglers,  used  to  wear 
as  a  protection  some  sort  of  a  rosary  or  sacred  relic, 
and  the  medal  of  Saint  Eugracia,  which  the  priests 
had  given  me,  was  one  which  all  the  band  admired. 
I  know  not  whether  I  should  have  developed  into  a 
proficient  smuggler  or  if  I  should  have  grown  weary 
of  the  charm,  the  moon-lit  rides,  the  ambuscades,  the 
plunder,  the  good  fellowship.  I  know  not  if  my 
conscience  would  have  ever  told  me  that  it  was  a 
wicked  life — in  common  with  most  other  Spaniards  we 
looked  on  ourselves  as  men  who  swindled  the  intolera- 
ble swindle  of  the  fiscal  regulations — I  do  not  know  if 
I  should  have  been  a  merry  and  rich  smuggler  at  this 
moment,  instead  of  as  you  see  me  now;  but  I  was 
scarcely  a  few  months  in  the  profession  when,  un- 
luckily, I  killed  a  customs-officer.  I  found  him  with 
Antonia,  my  cousin,  in  his  foul  embrace,  and  I  think 
that  every  member  of  the  band  would  have  done  just 
the  same  as  I  did,  though  my  cousin  cursed  me  at  the 
time  most  bitterly,  and  told  me  that  she  almost  had 
persuaded  him  to  join  our  band.  At  any  rate,  she  there 
and  then  commanded  me  to  go  back  to  my  parents,  and 
I  did  so,  feeling  very  much  disgraced. 

"They  had  been  looking  forward  to  me  coming  back 
in  great  prosperity  to  help  them  in  old  age,  and  they 


32    THE  HOUSE  OF  THE  FIGHTING-COCKS 

were  very  violent.  Now  I  had  thrown  away,  they 
said,  the  second  chance  which,  as  good  parents,  they 
had  offered  me.  It  was  upon  myself  henceforward 
that  I  must  rely.  They  turned  me  out,  and  then  my 
wanderings  through  Aragon  and  the  Castiles  began  in 
earnest.  On  the  way  I  had  occasion  to  be  first  the 
clerk  to  an  apothecary,  then  a  traveling  actor,  then 
the  servant  of  a  man  who  held  a  lottery  at  all  the  fairs, 
and  then  I  was  a  stable-man,  a  baker,  a  water-carrier. 
I  will  not  say  that  I  was  to  be  pitied  on  account  of 
the  lowliness  of  some  of  these  occupations;  they  were 
honest,  which  I  cannot  say  for  two  others  which 
engaged  me.  Well,  I  had  arrived  at  my  twenty-second 
year,  and  then  I  saw  one  afternoon,  a  girl  drive  past 
me  in  Madrid  who  changed  the  whole  course  of  my  life. 
She  put  into  my  heart  such  longing  and  such  tender- 
ness that  on  the  next  day,  very  early,  I  went  to  a  stall 
of  books  and  begged  the  goodman  there  to  let  me 
serve  him.  I  had  more  and  more  avoided  anything 
which  had  to  do  with  my  old  seminary  days — among 
the  attributes  of  that  regretted,  more  and  more 
regretted,  time  were  books.  And  now,  with  that 
enchanting  girl  upon  my  heart,  I  could  resist  no 
longer.  It  happened  that  the  bookseller  was  not  in  a 
position  to  employ  me,  but  a  friend  of  his  required 
a  new  assistant  and  I  flung  myself  most  ardently  into 
the  world  of  books,  which  up  to  then,  of  course,  I 
scarcely  knew  at  all.  I  cannot  say  if  I  should  have 
become  as  great  a  lover  of  the  books  if  it  had  not  been 
that  I  vowed  with  all  my  soul  that  I  adored  them; 
but  the  weather-beaten  books  of  chivalry  were 
splendid,  and  the  brown  piles  of  old  play-bills  and  the 
fat  religious  books,  such  as  those  of  Juan  Nieremberg 
of  Madrid — the  'Life  of  Saint  Ignacius  of  Loyola'  was 
one  of  them,  the  ^Tract  concerning  the  Beauty  of 


THE  HOUSE  OF  THE  FIGHTING-COCKS     33 

God'  was  another — and  Quevedo,  of  whom  we  had  a 
translation  issued  at  Rouen  in  1641,  by  Jacques 
Besongne,  with  a  very  ornamental  device  on  the 
title-page;  and  we  had  a  book  which  was  published  in 
Flanders,  all  about  the  war — it  was  by  Carlos  Coloma, 
the  Spanish  General,  whose  language  was  so  clear  and 
lofty;  by  the  side  of  it  we  had  one  which  had  been 
composed  by  the  Most  Illustrious  Juan  Coloma, 
Viceroy  and  Captain-General  for  His  Majesty  in 
Sardinia,  and  this  book  we  could  never  sell,  although 
it  was  the  first  one  printed  in  that  island  and  although 
the  Most  Illustrious  proclaimed  in  his  Introduction 
that  the  book  would  confer  so  much  of  benefit  and 
honor  on  the  Kingdom,  and  indeed  it  may  at  that 
time  have  been  in  request,  since  the  Most  Illustrious 
announces  that  unauthorized  ones  who  purvey  it  will 
have  every  copy  confiscated  and  be  liable  to  pay  a  fine 
of  five  and  twenty  ducats — it  was  a  little  book  in 
poetry  about  the  Passion  of  our  Lord;  and  then  we 
had  The  Lugubrious  Nights'  by  Colonel  Jose 
Cadalso,  who  was  killed  in  1782  by  the  English  at  the 
Siege  of  Gibraltar.  In  that  book  of  his  he  had  imi- 
tated the  'Night  Thoughts'  of  Dr.  Young,  an  English- 
man— I  found  them  all  delicious  and  I  even  read  them, 
while  I  watched  our  thievish  customers. 

"But  they  eluded  me,  the  scoundrels,  more  than 
once,  so  that  the  owner  of  the  stall  said  I  would  ruin 
him.  He  was  a  philanthropic  man;  I  might,  he  said, 
go  to  his  lodging  with  him  every  night  and  there  read 
all  the  books  I  wanted,  but  if  I  should  go  to  any  other 
bookseller  he  would  inform  him  that  for  watching  I  was 
very  useless. 

"So  I  found  myself  in  a  condition  worse  than  I  had 
ever  known;  I  couldn't  bear  it  in  Madrid.  You  may 
think  it  was  foolish  of  me,  but  I  left  the  town." 


34    THE  HOUSE  OF  THE  FIGHTING-COCKS 

"Pues,  in  the  towns,"  said  my  father;  "one  has 
many  thieves,  as  you  yourself  observed." 

"At  Alcala  de  Henares  I  fell  in  with  a  foreign  inn- 
keeper, a  Catalan;  and  as  I  had  eaten  for  two 
days  nothing  but  a  little  rye  bread  and  garlic  I  con- 
sented to  assist  him  in  selling  a  cat  for  a  hare,  as  the 
saying  is." 

My  father  turned  his  head  away. 

"Yes,  yes,  I  know  that  it  is  not  to  be  excused," 
said  Don  Eugenio,  "and  there  is  only  one  thing  which 
consoles  me.  There  in  Alcala  amid  the  travelers 
whom  I  helped  the  man  to  fleece — ^himself,  he  could 
not  read  nor  write — were  many,  I  am  certain,  who 
were  wicked  people,  so  that  it  was  seemly  for  them  to 
be  punished.    God  have  mercy  upon  me,  a  sinner." 

"Amen,"  said  my  father.  "But  did  any  of  the 
wicked  people  find  you  out?" 

"It  was  not  on  that  account,"  said  Don  Eugenio, 
"that  I  went  from  there.  Of  course,  I  longed  to  be 
with  books  again,  but  how  it  was  to  come  about  I 
could  not  see.  And  what  I  did  was  to  continue  at 
my  work  and  trust  in  God.  And  He  rewarded  me 
far,  far  beyond  my  merits.  A  sweet  angel  came  to 
Alcala;  she  once  had  been  the  good  wife  of  a  common 
soldier  who  became  a  duke  and  left  her  when  the 
Queen  cast  eyes  upon  him.  This  occurred  some  years 
ago  and  the  poor  woman  was  compelled  to  keep  herself 
in  hiding.  Nowhere  could  she  turn  for  aid;  her  life 
was  the  most  miserable  that  you  can  imagine;  but 
at  last  the  Church,  offended  with  the  haughty  duke, 
resolved  to  help  her,  and  they  passed  her  out  of  Spain. 
She  did  not  travel  in  the  public  coach,  as  is  the 
custom  of  our  highest,  but  in  a  black  carriage  with  a 
trusty  bodyguard.  And  when  she  halted  for  the 
night  with  us  at  Alcala  she  noticed,  in  the  midst  of 


THE  HOUSE  OF  THE  FIGHTING-COCKS    35 

her  anxieties,  that  I  was  looking  very  miserable.  And 
she  took  me  with  her,  on  the  next  day,  to  my  native 
town,  where  she  had  letters  for  the  Bishop.  This  is 
how  I  came  into  the  service  of  that  well-beloved  man, 
the  Bishop  of  Zaragoza. 

"You  have  heard,  perhaps,  of  Saint  Eugracia  and 
her  marvels?  Well,  a  portion  of  her  liver  is  resorted 
to,  at  Zaragoza,  by  the  faithful  who  are  incommoded 
by  some  pain  around  the  stomach;  while  a  tumor  in 
the  neck,  a  lamparone,  yields,  they  tell  me,  to  the  oil 
of  Saint  Eugracia's  lamp.  At  any  rate,  I  had  been 
perfectly  familiar  from  my  childhood  with  the  reputa- 
tion of  this  holy  woman,  whose  adherents  and  their 
friends  came  always  in  a  ceaseless  stream  to  Zaragoza. 
I  did  not  suppose  that  I  myself  should  ever  have  much 
traffic  with  her,  but  the  Bishop  said  that  I  had  just 
arrived  at  the  good  time  to  write  her  life.  He  had 
determined  that  it  should  be  written,  since  it  would  be 
doubtless  very  edifying,  and  he  was  an  amiable  man 
and  a  grandee  who  did  not  love  the  learned  doctors 
half  as  much  as  the  unlearned  people.  All  the  manu- 
scripts about  ecclesiastical  affairs  in  Aragon,  and  other 
parts,  which  filled  his  library  he  did  not  care  about, 
but  he  was  much  devoted  to  our  Saint,  and  so  for 
nearly  twenty  years  he  nourished  me  and  was  my 
friend  while  these  investigations  were  in  progress. 

"Now  and  then  I  could  inform  him  that  I  had  dis- 
covered something  else  about  the  lady  and  her  eighteen 
martyred  comrades,  but  it  was  not  easy  to  learn  much, 
and  as  the  years  went  on  I  lived  a  good  deal  at  the 
only  Zaragoza  bookstall  that  was  just  outside  my 
former  seminary,  and  when  I  was  at  the  Bishop's  house 
I  gave  more  time  and  more  time  to  the  manuscripts. 
The  catalogue  I  was  compiling  of  them  gave  him  pleas- 
ure, and  he  promised  me  that,  after  I  had  written  it 


36    THE  HOUSE  OF  THE  FIGHTING-COCKS 

in  Latin,  he  would  send  it  to  be  bound  at  Barcelona  in 
dull  red  morocco  with  the  edges  gilt  and  gauffred,  with 
his  arms  emblazoned  in  the  center  of  the  cover,  and 
inside  a  painted  geometrical  design;  there  should  be 
a  symmetrical  and  elegant  ground-work  of  tears.  On 
the  title-page,  he  said,  I  could  describe  myself  as  his 
librarian.  He  was  so  kind  to  me  that  I  lamented 
having  ascertained  so  little  as  to  Saint  Eugracia. 

"I  visited  my  parents  now  and  then — they  both  died 
in  this  period  when  I  was  back  in  Zaragoza — but  there 
was  a  feeling  of  constraint  between  us.  When  my 
uncle,  who  became  one  of  the  richest  smugglers  of  all 
Aragon,  received  them  for  the  gorgeous  nuptials  of  his 
daughter,  he  inquired  about  myself  and  the  profession 
I  had  chosen.  But  my  parents  told  me,  somewhat 
curtly,  that  it  had  been  quite  impossible  to  answer  him 
with  accuracy  if  it  was  not  to  excite  his  great  amaze- 
ment and,  maybe,  his  sense  of  humor.  I  was  like  a 
priest,  they  said  to  him,  I  helped  the  Bishop  and  was 
growing  corpulent.  My  pretty  cousin  asked  if  I  had 
got  a  woman,  but  they  said  that  I  did  not  concern 
myself  with  them.  And,"  quoth  Don  Eugenio,  "I  have 
in  this  tale  of  my  life  not  thought  it  necessary  to 
repeat  the  passages  of  love;  I  did  this  for  the  reason 
that,  so  far  as  I  know,  they  have  had  no  influence  on 
my  career,  with  the  exception  of  that  girl  I  met  one 
afternoon  of  autumn  in  Madrid.  With  your  permis- 
sion I  will  say  no  word  about  the  others,  not  because 
they  are  of  slight  importance,  but  because  they  are 
too  sacred  or  too  little  sacred." 

My  father  had  some  small  cigars  inside  his  hat.  He 
took  out  one  for  Don  Eugenio,  he  lighted  it  and  gave 
it  him,  and  then  he  chose  another  for  himself. 

"At  last  the  Bishop  died,"  said  Don  Eugenio,  "and 


THE  HOUSE  OF  THE  FIGHTING-COCKS    37 

his  successor  chased  me  out  into  the  world.    And  thus 
I  came  to  Mexico." 

"If  that  man  in  Jalapa  whom  you  talked  of  should 
not  want  to  have  you,"  said  my  father,  "then  I  hope 
that  you  will  always  live  with  us." 


CHAPTER  III 

Although  I  was  a  little  boy  when  Don  Eugenio 
came  and  took  me  with  him  to  Jalapa,  and  although  we 
only  lived  together  for  about  a  year,  I  seem  to  have 
him  always  with  me.  Here  in  Mexico  you  have  to  be 
the  most  secluded  of  all  hermits  if  the  everlasting  strife 
and  treacheries  and  turmoil  do  not  sometimes  make 
you  wish  to  be  in  a  more  peaceful  country;  but  I  live 
with  Don  Eugenio  and  I  am  happy.  And  he  lives  with 
me  as  he  does  not  live,  I  am  sure,  with  anybody  else, 
and  when  I  vanish  he  will  vanish  also. 

It  is  terrible  to  think  that  all  this  laughter  and  gay 
learning  and  benevolence  will  fade  out  of  the  world. 
And  it  is  strange  to  think  that  probably  they  would 
have  faded  sooner  if  the  Bishop's  librarian  had  not 
encountered  a  small,  naked  Indian  boy.  But  I  am  far 
more  troubled  and  more  serious  about  these  things 
than  Don  Eugenio  would  have  been — it  is  the  nature 
of  my  people  to  be  serious,  if  we  reflect  at  all.  He  used 
to  say  that,  speaking  with  the  most  profound  humility, 
he  did  not  think  that  God  would  like  it  if  one  always 
treated  Him  with  seriousness,  for,  surely,  in  the  works 
of  God  one  could  discern  amid  the  grandeur  no  small 
wa3rwardness  and  wistfulness  and  mirth,  so  that  one 
could  suppose  in  God  a  wish  not  to  be  veiled  in  awe, 
but  to  be  treated  with  a  loving  friendliness,  with  a 
complete  familiarity.  He  was  quite  firm  in  his  belief 
that  God  could  laugh  at  men.  I  think  he  used  to 
laugh  at  God,  and  he  was  a  much  better  man  than 
many  who  have  tonsured  heads.    And  if  it  is  the  case 

38 


THE  HOUSE  OF  THE  FIGHTING-COCKS    39 

that  God  can  laugh  at  us,  I  think  He  had  the  last 
laugh  over  Don  Eugenio.  Instead  of  letting  him  live 
in  a  Latin  country  and  at  ease  among  his  fellows,  He 
made  a  poor  wanderer  of  him,  a  solitary  man  who  did 
not  really  give  his  confidence  to  any  one  until  it  was 
to  me! 

While  he  was  at  Zaragoza  in  the  Bishop's  library, 
he  could  not  tell  them  what  he  thought  about  these 
matters;  he  would  certainly  have  been  expelled,  if 
nothing  worse.  The  Inquisition  was  distasteful  to 
him,  but  when  he  was  ultimately  sent  away  the  only 
manuscripts  that  he  could  lay  his  hands  on  happened 
to  be  certain  papers  of  the  Council  of  the  General 
Inquisition  of  Spain,  together  with  a  few  Reports  of 
the  Inquisitors  of  Aragon  and  one  or  two  more  manu- 
scripts of  that  kind. 

Don  Eugenio  was  the  sort  of  man  who  does  not  like 
to  lead  a  solitary  life.  The  old  philosophers  and 
Christian  Fathers  whom  he  found  on  Zaragoza  book- 
stalls were  to  him  as  much  a  joy  as  the  profane  books 
of  Madrid;  but  he  was  not  so  wise  and  pure  a  man,  he 
said,  as  to  be  satisfied  witn  lofty  books. 

I  ought  to  have  begun  at  the  beginning.  As  we 
walked  back  from  the  palm  grove,  where  he  told  us  all 
that  story  of  his  life,  he  settled  with  my  father  on  the 
money  that  he  should  receive  for  giving  me  instruction. 
And  he  promised  that  he  never  would  neglect  me. 
"It  is  wonderful,"  he  said,  "when  I  remember  the  rich 
students  who  came  riding  and  the  poor  ones  who  came 
walking  very  painfully  into  the  town  of  Zaragoza  in 
the  autumn;  those  who  ride  on  mules,  sometimes  two 
and  even  three  on  the  same  animal,  may  not  be 
opulent,  but  anyhow  they  have  a  green  serge  parcel  of 
belongings  and  they  listen  to  the  poor  ones  who  become 
their  menials  in  the  town,  for  otherwise  the  ragged 


40    THE  HOUSE  OF  THE  FIGHTING-COCKS 

fellows  could  not  stay  there  to  absorb  the  Stoic 
teachings  or  the  Treatise  of  Pope  Gregory  the  Great 
upon  the  Book  of  Job  or  whatsoever  else  it  is  they 
want  to  study.  When  I  walked  up  here  from  Vera- 
cruz I  thought  that  I  was  not  so  fortunate  as  those 
poor  studentSj  seeing  that  the  Noahcite  perhaps — who 
knows? — he  may  be  dead  or  .  .  ." 

^'Venerable  sir,"  put  in  my  father,  "you  shall  have 
a  mule,  just  like  those  other  students.  You  and 
Juanito,  each  of  you  shall  have  his  mule." 

"My  friend,"  said  Don  Eugenio,  "will  you  believe 
it  when  I  tell  you  that  in  Salamanca,  which  abounded 
with  apothecaries,  male  and  female,  there  was  one 
called  Clara,  who  possessed  prescriptions  that  were 
guaranteed  to  tame  the  luckless  stomachs  of  the 
students  who  could  not  appease  them,  save  with  pesti- 
lential food?" 

My  father  clenched  his  fist.  "The  people  who  allow 
that  kind  of  thing,  they  should  be  slain  themselves," 
he  cried.  "It  causes  me  to  think  that  every  one  is 
wicked,  if  there  are  some  men  like  that.    Oh,  devils!" 

"Well,"  said  Don  Eugenio,  "perhaps  I  also  have  not 
much  esteem  for  men,  but  I  have  still  less  for  myself." 

He  was  not  one  oif  those  who  decorate  themselves 
with  crimes  that  are  as  out  of  place  upon  them  as 
a  multitude  of  stars  upon  a  dull,  gray  sky.  My  Don 
Eugenio  was  the  simplest  of  all  men;  he  held  that 
neither  God  nor  yet  the  Devil  had  conferred  upon  him 
any  special  decorations.  He  believed  that  he  was 
undistinguishable  from  the  crowd  of  ordinary  men. 
And  he  was  more  disposed  to  think  unfavorably  of 
himself  than  of  the  others,  since  he  often  thought  that 
with  regard  to  them  he  might  be  wrong. 

It  is  presumptuous  on  my  part,  surely,  to  attempt 
to  give  an  accurate  description  of  him.    just  as  well, 


THE  HOUSE  OF  THE  FIGHTING-COCKS    41 

I  think,  could  a  poor  stone  enveloped  in  the  fog  give 
an  account  of  what  the  fog  is  like  upon  its  frontier, 
with  the  sunbeams  painting  it.  There  is  not  much  of 
Don  Eugenio,  I  fear,  that  I  was  capable  of  seeing. 
And  to  speak  about  his  erudition  merely — which  is 
not  the  side  of  him  that  I  most  love  and  therefore  can 
best  understand — he  was  forever  strengthening  his 
arguments  with  something  that  a  great  or  famous  man 
had  uttered  or  had  done.  The  documents  which  he 
had  taken  from  the  Bishop's  library  were  very  few, 
and  they  were  all  devoted,  more  or  less,  to  matters 
of  the  Church;  but  in  his  head  my  splendid  master 
seemed  to  have  another  and  more  ample  library. 
I  used  to  wonder  if  he  was  disturbed  about  the 
scattering,  by  death,  of  all  his  knowledge;  but  he 
certainly  was  very  tranquil  when  he  thought  about  his 
body's  death.  I  am  not  sure  that  he  would  have 
amended  any  of  his  ways  in  order  to  avoid  a  punish- 
ment in  the  hereafter,  but  he  earnestly  maintained 
that  we  are  punished  now.  He  would  have  scorned 
to  claim  the  least  excuse.  His  errors  and  his  frailties 
he  did  not  cherish,  so  he  said,  for  any  higher  motive— 
"I  have  seen,"  quoth  he,  "some  people  cultivate 
theirs  sins  as  if  they  had  been  rebel  flags  to  wave  at 
the  opponent."  He  cultivated  his  because  he  liked 
them. 

During  the  two  days  that  he  remained  at  Colorado 
there  was  no  one  who  insisted  more  on  being  with  him 
than  the  priest.  A  man  degenerated,  said  the  priest, 
in  such  a  miserable  village;  one  must  lose  no  chance 
of  intercourse  with  reasonable  folk.  But  in  the  night 
when  both  of  them  were  vehemently  singing  first 
a  Spanish  student's  song,  then  a  religious  chant,  and 
then  another  student's  song,  which  made  the  village 
snigger  each  time  that  it  was  repeated,  Don  Eugenio 


42    THE  HOUSE  OF  THE  FIGHTING-COCKS 

did  all  he  could  to  sing  more  loudly  than  his  boon 
companion,  in  a  noble  effort  to  preserve  the  old  priest's 
dignity. 

There  was  much  sorrow  in  the  village  on  that 
morning  when  we  rode  away.  Gonzalez  and  his 
Enriqueta,  the  old  Captain  and  the  mumbling  priest, 
and  several  other  people  walked  beside  the  mule  of 
Don  Eugenio;  my  parents  held  the  bridle  of  my 
own — the  bridles  and  the  saddles,  and  the  necks  of 
Don  Eugenio  and  me  were  hung  with  pretty  garlands. 
But  the  only  ones  of  the  procession  who  did  not  seem 
to  be  sad  were  Enriqueta  and  my  master.  She  was 
making  fun  of  the  old  Captain,  and  my  master,  with 
his  head  thrown  back — not  paying  even  slight  atten- 
tion to  his  mule — sang  a  brave  h5min  in  Latin. 


Two  days  have  gone  since  I  put  down  those  words. 
It  is  amid  my  dearest  memories,  the  picture  of  him 
riding  through  the  trees  and  singing — he  alone  of  all 
the  company.  We  could  not  understand  the  song,  but 
as  he  sang  it  all  our  blood  ran  riot  and  our  sadness 
disappeared.  We  felt  that  we  were  soldiers  marching 
to  a  field  of  triumph  and  we  started  singing.  Loud 
and  shrill  the  voices — that  of  the  old  Captain  was  the 
loudest;  he  rolled  forth  a  lover's  melody  which  ought 
to  have  been  murmured.  But  he  did  not  hinder  me 
from  hearing  my  dear  mother's  voice,  which  seemed  to 
sing  despite  herself.  The  blue  and  yellow  flowers  that 
were  hanging  from  the  trees,  you  saw  them  shake — 
they  wanted  to  be  like  the  butterflies  and  dance 
around  us. 

When  at  last  my  mother  and  my  father  and  the 
rest  of  them  decided  to  go  back,  and  when  they  said 
farewell  to  us,  I  do  not  think  that  any  one  was  sad. 


THE  HOUSE  OF  THE  FIGHTING-COCKS     43 

At  all  events  I  am  quite  sure  that  in  the  afternoon  as 
Don  Eugenio  and  I  rode  up  towards  Jalapa  he  was 
speaking  meditatively  about  us  both. 

"In  one  way  I  regret,"  he  said,  "that  I  accepted 
money  from  your  father — I  shall  have  to  keep  you 
with  me.  And  your  mother  will  not  give  permission, 
I  am  sure,  if  we  should  want  to  go  beyond  Jalapa. 
We  may  quarrel  with  the  Noahcite  and  leave  his 
service — I  should  not  be  much  surprised  if  he  is  a 
pedantic  fellow — and  if  we  remain  there  in  the  town, 
where  the  commodities  are  sure  to  be  expensive,  we 
shall  starve.  But  no,  I  am  too  mournful.  This  is  your 
first  journey." 

"Let  me  starve  if  I  may  journey  on  with  you!"  I 
cried. 

"My  son,"  said  Don  Eugenio — he  bent  a  little  for- 
ward and  away  from  me,  to  stroke  the  right  ear  of  his 
mule — "I  have  not  come  to  Mexico  for  such  a  reason  as 
caused  Coelius  Apicius  to  go  to  Africa,  though  it  must 
be  admitted  that  innumerable  men  have  traveled  to  far 
distant  countries  on  account  of  a  much  baser  object 
than  to  ascertain  if  crayfish  on  the  coast  of  Africa  is 
more  delectable  than  such  as  one  discovers  at  Min- 
turnse.  While  I  do  not  pretend  to  have  the  energy  of 
this  good  man,  yet  I  maintain,  as  strongly  as  did 
Aristotle,  that  we  go  in  hunger  at  our  peril.  In  the 
writings  of  that  most  august  philosopher  you  will  find 
all  about  it.  Some  day  we  shall  study  Aristotle.  And 
we  must  not  starve." 

I  pointed  out  a  little  clearing  by  the  roadside  where 
we  could  eat  some  of  the  tamales  and  the  oranges  and 
bits  of  chicken  and  dried  fish  and  other  things  my 
mother  had  packed  up  for  us.  And  we  had  not  been 
there  a  long  time  when  I  heard  the  footsteps  of  a 
horse;  upon  it  was  a  man,  a  tall,  young  soldier,  and 


44    THE  HOUSE  OF  THE  FIGHTING-COCKS 

behind  him  was  a  woman,  the  most  beautiful  whom  I 
had  ever  seen,  although  her  eyes  were  worn  with  weep- 
ing. She  was  fastened  to  the  soldier  by  a  thick  rope, 
but  she  did  not  look  as  if  she  would  have  dared  to  run 
away.  A  flower  or  two  was  in  the  black  hair  which 
hung  down  beyond  the  upturned  portion  of  the 
saddle. 

The  soldier  in  the  splendid  uniform  waved  a  salute 
to  Don  Eugenio;  the  horse  stopped  of  its  own  accord. 

"Young  man,"  said  Don  Eugenio,  "I  do  not  know 
your  business,  but  it  seems  to  me  you  have  been  going 
further  than  is  very  wise  for  one  day." 

"I  am  the  Lieutenant  Esteban  Fuentes,  aide-de- 
camp to  His  Excellency  the  Governor  of  Veracruz," 
he  said  with  truculence.  "How  is  a  man  who  rides 
upon  a  mule  to  know  what  is  and  what  is  not  wise  for 
a  horse?" 

My  master  got  up  from  the  ground  and  bowed 
superbly. 

"I  am  the  student  Eugenio  Gil,  ex-librarian  to  His 
Lordship  the  Bishop  of  Zaragoza  in  Aragon,"  he  said, 
"and  it  is  by  the  faded  flowers  in  this  lady's  hair  that 
I  observe  how  many  leagues  you  must  have  covered." 

"You  are  very  wise,"  the  young  lieutenant  sneered. 

"No  doubt,"  said  Don  Eugenio,  "we  men  are  wiser 
than  all  other  living  creatures,  but  for  my  part  I  am 
not  so  certain  of  the  reason.  It  may  be,  as  the 
philosopher  imagines,  because  a  man  hath  very  little 
head  in  respect  of  the  proportion  of  the  body.  Or  do 
you  suppose  it  is  because  the  blood  of  man  is  the  most 
subtle,  pure  and  clean?" 

"Yes,  yes,  but  I  am  hungry.  I  have  ridden  a  good 
distance.  Will  you  give  me  some  of  your  provi- 
sions?" 

Don  Eugenio,  who  had  approached  the  new  ar- 


THE  HOUSE  OF  THE  FIGHTING-COCKS    45 

rivals,  stepped  back  to  the  spot  where  we  had  laid 
the  food  and  took  up  in  his  arms  some  of  the  choicest 
things.  He  carried  them  to  the  young  officer  who 
clearly  had  not  eaten  for  a  long  time,  having  calculated, 
I  suppose,  that  he  would  come  across  a  village,  and 
the  village  having  shown  itself  inclined  to  help  his 
captive.  But  although  he  was  so  ravenous  he  gave, 
from  time  to  time,  a  handful  to  the  girl. 

My  master  was  quite  near  him,  with  one  hand  in  fact 
upon  the  saddle.  While  he  stood  there  he  continued 
that  most  profitable  discourse.  "The  blood  of  man," 
he  said,  "is  the  nutrition,  and  so  there  is  great  differ- 
ence, you  will  admit,  whether  it  be  cold  or  hot,  thin  or 
thick,  troubled  or  clear." 

The  soldier  went  on  with  his  eating  very  noisily,  but 
in  the  dark  eyes  of  the  girl  there  was  great  friendliness. 

"Or,"  continued  Don  Eugenio,  "is  it  by  reason  of  the 
constitution  of  his  blood  that  man  has  a  most  perfect 
sense  of  feeling?" 

From  the  soldier  came  a  grunt. 

"Because  they  have  soft  flesh  they  are  endowed  with 
sharp  and  rapid  wit^  and  they  whose  flesh  and  skin  are 
thicker  and  grosser,  they  are  dull  and  slow."  While 
he  was  saying  this  his  fingers  were  upon  the  rope, 
untying  it.  "Surely,"  he  said,  "in  a  soft  body  the  spirit 
of  the  soul  is  the  more  easily  infused,  and  doth  more 
willingly  and  speedily  disclose  itself;  and  on  the  other 
hand,  the  hardness  and  thickness  is  a  hindrance  which 
"prevents  the  pure  clean  blood,  whereby  the  spirits  are 
engendered,  from  being  carried  from  place  to  place; 
for  unto  every  man  is  given  a  certain  portion  of  spirit 
to  work  withal."  As  he  spoke  these  words  he  pulled 
her  suddenly  from  off  the  horse. 

"What  do  you  mean?  What  is  this?"  cried  the  lieu- 
tenant.   "May  the  thunder  of  God  .  .  ." 


46    THE  HOUSE  OF  THE  FIGHTING-COCKS 

"You  have  treated  her  badly/'  said  Don  Eugenio,  in 
a  cold,  stern  voice. 

"Now  say  your  prayers!" 

The  girl  was  moaning  and  my  master  reassured  her. 
Then  he  turned  to  the  lieutenant  who  had  drawn  his 
sword  and  evidently  was  enraged. 

"It  is  most  opportune  to  pray,"  said  Don  Eugenio, 
"for  I  must  render  thanks  to  God,  who  has  enabled 
me  to  set  this  woman  free.  Young  man,  when  you 
are  older  you  will  look  back  to  this  day  with  sorrow, 
seeing  that  amid  your  other  lapses  you  let  slip  the 
opportunity  of  joining  in  this  prayer." 

I  somehow  did  not  think  he  would  cut  off  the  head  of 
Don  Eugenio,  because  he  seemed  to  cower  beneath  my 
master's  words.  And  I  can  see  him,  as  if  it  were  yes- 
terday, with  his  long  sword  held  down  beside  his  leg. 
I  thought  the  fiery  spirit  had  gone  out  of  him  just  as 
the  flash  of  sunlight  from  the  sword. 

"If  you  desire  it,"  said  my  master  to  the  girl,  "I 
will  go  with  you  to  your  home." 

She  sank  down  at  his  side  and  kissed  his  hand. 

"But  if  you  would  prefer,"  he  said,  "to  see  the  city 
of  Jalapa,  which  is  where  I  hope  to  stay  awhile,  then 
you  can  safely  come  with  me.  No  doubt  the  good 
nuns  have  a  convent  there." 

"I  do  not  know,"  she  murmured. 

The  young  officer  was  quickly  getting  over  his  em- 
barrassment and,  with  a  laugh  I  did  not  like,  "We're 
all  good  friends,"  he  cried.  "  Car  a  jo  f  but  it  is  too  hot 
to  quarrel.  We  can  all  of  us,"  said  he,  as  he  dis- 
mounted, "we  can  all  of  us  spend  half-an-hour  in  sleep." 

The  girl  was  clinging  to  my  master,  who  put  his 
right  arm  around  her.  And  as  she  looked  up  at  him 
she  saw  a  smile  which  marvelously  changed  her 
troubles  into  smiling. 


THE  HOUSE  OF  THE  FIGHTING-COCKS    47 

"Would  you  like  to  tell  me,"  he  began,  "what  is  your 
name  and  where  you  come  from?" 

"Yes,  I  am  Maria."  She  was  like  a  sunbeam  which 
is  happy  in  the  foliage  of  a  splendid  tree. 

"My  little  girl,"  he  said,  "if  the  good  nuns  receive 
you  I  will  send  a  letter  to  your  parents.  They  will  not 
be  anxious,  I  am  sure,  when  I  explain  to  them." 

Maria  looked  as  if  she  had  not  one  anxiety  in  all  the 
world. 

"I  think  it  is  most  fortunate,"  he  said,  "that  the 
lieutenant  brought  you  from  your  village.  He  did  not 
intend  to  do  a  worthy  deed,  no  more  than  did  the 
Devil  to  Saint  Guy.  But  now  you  have  been  taken 
from  your  slothful  village,  even  as  our  little  friend 
here,"  and  he  indicated  me.  "And  if  you  return  when 
you  have  finished  with  the  convent  and  you  settle  down 
at  home,  it  will  be  something  for  you  to  remember." 

"Yes,"  she  said,  a  little  dreamily  and  sadly. 

"On  the  other  hand,  if  you  would  like  to  be  a  nun, 
if  you  have  the  vocation  .  .  ."  and  he  also  looked  a 
little  wistful. 

The  sun  was  beating  down  upon  us  all,  and  so  my 
master  stepped  aside  to  where  the  moss  lay  underneath 
the  trees.  Maria  did  not  leave  him,  and  as  he  sat 
down  she  sat  down  also.  As  for  us,  the  officer  and  me, 
we  followed  them — we  seemed  to  be  spectators  of  it — 
and  we  stood  there,  watching  them. 

"We  really  need  not  talk  about  the  final  vows,"  said 
Don  Eugenio,  "because,  for  one  thing,  I  am  never  much 
disposed  to  think  of  what  is  very  far  ahead.  But  you 
must  not  imagine  that  they  will  compel  you  to 
remain." 

She  nodded,  very  gravely,  with  her  little  head.  The 
faded  flowers  did  not  look  more  serious  than  she  was. 

"I  believe/'  said  Don  Eugenio,  "that  I  shall  be 


48    THE  HOUSE  OF  THE  FIGHTING-COCKS 

permitted  now  and  then  to  see  you.  If  you  find  it 
irksome  I  will  get  you  out  and  send  you  home.  But 
now  we  must  not  be  so  melancholy."  He  was  smiling 
at  her.    "After  all,  it  has  gone  well  to-day." 

She  sat  with  trembling  eyelids. 

"Let  us  think  no  more  about  to-morrow.  Can  you 
sing  a  song  to  us  or  shall  we  make  our  thanksgiving 
to  God?" 

And  then,  with  a  subdued  but  passionate  voice,  "I 
won't  go  into  any  convent,"  she  declared. 

He  gazed  at  her.  I  thought  he  frowned.  "Maria! 
What  am  I  to  do  with  you?  Poor  little  girl,"  he 
said. 

"No,  no — I  will  not  be  a  nun  ...  I  really  cannot 
be  a  nun,"  she  pleaded. 

"You  can  always  leave  the  convent,  I  am  sure,  while 
you  are  on  probation.  But  if  you  will  not  go  there  at 
all,  it  will  be,  I  confess,  a  trouble  to  me.  You  must 
not  be  running  up  and  down  Jalapa  by  yourself."  He 
took  a  hand  of  hers  and  patted  it.  "You  see,"  he  said, 
"I  must  look  after  you." 

"But — but "  she  shuddered.    She  drew  nearer  to 

him.    "Oh,  you  don't  understand." 

He  was  evidently  in  distress.  "My  little  one,"  he 
said,  "there  is  nobody  who  understands  better  than  I 
do  that  the  life  ecclesiastic  is  not  for  all  of  us.  Have 
faith  in  me — I  wish  you  well,  so  well — only  have  faith 
in  me." 

"Why  don't  you  take  her?"  cried  the  young  lieu- 
tenant. 

Don  Eugenio  made  a  kind  of  roaring  sound.  He 
would  have  spoken  if  Maria  had  not  thrown  herself 
into  his  bosom.  Then  he  acted  for  a  time  as  if  the 
officer  and  I  were  far  away.  And  as  they  clung  to 
one  another  they  were  laughing,  weeping,  sighing. 


THE  HOUSE  OF  THE  FIGHTING-COCKS    49 

It  was  she  who  was  the  first  to  speak.  "I  am  so 
glad,"  she  said. 

My  master's  face  was  like  a  scarlet  sun  when  it  is 
blazing  through  the  mists  above  Jalapa.  "I  have 
dreamed  of  you  for  many  years/'  he  said. 

''Now  always,  always  I  will  be  with  you." 

"Ah,  yes  .  .  ."  and  then  his  eye  met  that  of  the 
lieutenant.  "Sir!"  he  said,  "this  lady  and  myself  are 
going  to  be  married.  God  in  heaven!  Otherwise  I 
should  have  merely  saved  her  from  one  sinking  raft  to 
fling  her  on  another — which  may  be  the  life  of  man," 
he  said,  "but  it  shall  not  be  her  life,  in  so  far  as  I 
arrange  it." 

Not  long  afterwards  we  had  resumed  the  journey. 
The  lieutenant  rode  in  front  and  then  the  mule  on 
which  Maria  sat  with  me  and  then  my  master's  mule. 
He  would  have  dearly  loved  to  take  her  on  his  animal, 
and  she  desired  it  also,  but  beyond  all  other  Spaniards 
I  have  ever  seen  he  loved  the  beasts  of  burden. 

Now  and  then,  between  the  vegetation  which  hung 
down,  as  if  it  were  a  waterfall,  from  every  tree,  one 
had  a  glimpse  of  the  blue  mountains,  range  on  range; 
and  toward  the  evening,  as  the  color  of  the  sky  grew 
faint,  there  was  no  difference  between  it  and  the  moun- 
tains of  the  topmost  range.  But  the  crimson  snows  of 
Orizaba,  high  above  all  other  mountains,  made  me  feel 
— I  knew  not  why — a  conqueror.  Of  course,  I  had 
seen  all  these  things,  the  gorgeous  forests  and  the 
winding  road,  the  distant  ranges  and  great  Orizaba,  I 
had  seen  them  many  hundred  times — and  yet,  until 
that  day,  I  had  not  seen  them. 

Sometimes  the  old  Spanish  road  was  not  in  good 
repair,  so  that  the  mule  was  forced  to  jump  from  stone 
to  stone.  At  other  times  I  slumbered  in  the  saddle, 
partly  owing,  I  suppose,  to  the  fatigue  and  partly  to 


50    THE  HOUSE  OF  THE  FIGHTING-COCKS 

the  strange  excitements  of  the  day.  Maria  spoke  a 
little,  saying  that  she  was  so  glad  that  Don  Eugenio 
had  rescued  her,  and  also  that  it  would  be  beautiful 
for  us  three  to  be  friends.  She  turned  her  head  and 
answered  Don  Eugenio  from  time  to  time,  and  once 
when  I  woke  up — it  was  near  nightfall — he  was  talking 
with  a  tremble  in  his  voice.  I  think  it  was  about 
Jalapa  he  was  talking. 

Then  she  asked  him  what  the  Devil  did  with  poor 
Saint  Guy. 

''Well,  he  was  beneficial,  though  he  did  not  mean 
to  be  so,"  said  my  master.  "It  offended  him  to  see 
the  way  in  which  the  young  man  served  his  church. 
From  early  morning  Guy  was  busy  there:  he  swept 
the  spiders  from  the  vault,  he  swept  the  floor,  attended 
to  the  altars  and  the  shrines,  in  fact  he  was  so  much 
devoted  to  the  church,  which  was  that  of  Our  Lady 
of  Laeken,  that  it  is  most  probable  he  would  have 
stayed  there  all  his  life  and  that  he  never  would  have 
been  admitted  to  the  hierarchy  of  saints.  But  then 
the  Devil  in  disguise  approached  him  and  persuaded 
him  to  be  a  man  of  business,  seeing  that  this  would 
enable  him,  the  Devil  said,  to  gain  much  money  for 
his  parents  and  the  needy.  But  the  Devil  was  frus- 
trated, for  the  young  man  had  very  soon  made  a 
failure  of  his  business,  whereupon  he  recognized  his 
fault  and  was  exceedingly  regretful.  He  went  back 
into  the  church,  but  as  a  penance  he  now  took  upon 
himself  a  task  more  useful  or,  at  any  rate,  more 
prominent:  he  traveled  both  to  Rome  and  to  Jerusa- 
lem, he  was  a  pilgrim  to  the  celebrated  shrines  of 
Christendom,  and  he  conducted  other  pilgrims,  such 
as  Wondulph,  to  their  satisfaction.  Far  and  near, 
wherever  he  was  seen,  his  merits  were  acclaimed  and 
ultimately  he  was  canonized." 


THE  HOUSE  OF  THE  FIGHTING-COCKS     51 

I  do  not  know  how  many  miles  we  rode.  When  I 
awakened  for  the  last  time  it  was  owing  to  the  angry 
voice  of  Don  Eugenio  and  that  of  an  official  who,  with 
an  uplifted  torch,  was  standing  just  beside  our  mules. 
His  eye  was  glittering  as  much  as  any  of  the  buttons 
on  his  uniform. 

At  first  I  did  not  know  what  they  were  shouting  at 
each  other  for,  and  then  I  found  that  Don  Eugenio 
would  not  agree  to  pay  for  bringing  the  remainder  of 
our  food  into  the  town.  Later  on  my  master  told  me 
that  he  had  resisted  on  account  of  a  wild  devil  who 
was  in  him,  but  especially  because  he  wanted  to  be 
grand  before  Maria. 

"I  command  you,  do  you  hear  me?"  cried  the  man 
in  uniform.  "You  either  pay  what  it  is  right  to  pay 
or  else  go  back  along  that  road.  And,  for  the  rest, 
I  care  not  if  your  food  will  choke  you  or  if  you  go 
wandering  about  the  land  in  hunger.  What  I  know  is 
that  unless  you  pay  you  shall  not  come  into  my 
town." 

And  then  I  did  not  think  how  bold  I  was,  because  I 
only  thought  that  I  must  help  my  master:  "Aristotle 
said,"  quoth  I,  repeating  words  which  I  had  learned 
from  Don  Eugenio,  "Aristotle  said  we  go  in  hunger  at 
our  peril." 

"And  I  say,"  the  man  shouted,  "that  it  is  I  who 
collect  the  dues  at  this  office.  Do  you  think  that  I  care 
what  anybody  else  says?" 

I  was  not  afraid  of  him,  because  my  master's  hand 
was  on  my  shoulder.  And  I  think  that  Don  Eugenio 
would  then  have  paid  the  money  if  our  friend  the 
young  lieutenant  had  not  at  this  moment  ridden 
forward  from  the  darkness  where  he  had  been  looking 
on.  He  wished  the  officer  good-night  and  our  pro- 
cession passed  into  the  town. 


CHAPTER  IV 

The  lieutenant  said  that  he  would  tell  us  all  about 
the  place,  but  there  was  nothing  in  this  neighborhood, 
he  said,  at  the  beginning  of  the  town.  I  tried  to  look 
at  every  house,  but  I  saw  hardly  anything,  nor  did 
Maria,  since  it  was  so  dark.  What  I  could  see,  by 
means  of  the  few  lights  inside  the  windows,  were  great 
iron  bars.  Some  people,  who  were  wrapped  in  cloaks, 
went  past  the  houses  rather  hurriedly;  if  one  of  them 
had  stopped,  perhaps  I  should  have  screamed — so  did 
the  iron  bars  affect  me.  But  as  we  climbed  up  towards 
the  middle  of  the  town,  with  here  a  church  and  there 
another  large  black  building,  I  was  much  relieved  to 
find  more  lights;  the  people  also  were  not  hurrying. 
And  in  the  plaza  one  could  see  their  faces,  which  were 
friendly.  They  were  strolling  round  and  round  the 
plaza  and  I  should  have  liked  to  stop  and  look  at 
them,  as  well  as  at  the  palace  of  the  governor  with  its 
arcades;  and  at  the  other  side,  up  many  steps,  was 
the  cathedral.  But  we  rode  on  across  the  plaza  and 
we  turned  off  to  the  right,  down  a  steep,  curving  road. 
At  last  we  halted  at  a  big  house.  The  lieutenant  had 
dismounted  and  was  talking  to  my  master. 

"Will  you  still  insist,"  he  said,  "on  going  to  this 
man  to-night?  He  will  not  be  prepared,  as  I  have 
told  you.    In  the  barracks  or  some  hostelry  .  .  ." 

"You  do  not  know  him,"  said  my  master. 

The  lieutenant  crossed  himself.  "At  this  hour  of 
the  night  who  knows  what  he  is  doing?  Very  likely," 
said  the  terrified  lieutenant,  "he — ^he  .  .  ." 

52 


THE  HOUSE  OF  THE  FIGHTING-COCKS    53 

"Come  now,"  said  my  master,  as  he  slid  from  the 
mule,  "he  will  be  a  most  sympathetic  person.  He  will 
take  me  to  his  arms." 

"Yes,  yes,  and  carry  you  to  Hell.  He  is  in  league 
with  Satan.  You — they  have  not  told  you  what  goes 
on  in  this  accursed  house.  If  you  will  only  wait  until 
to-morrow — I  am  really  fond  of  you — if  you  will  wait 
until  to-morrow  and  inquire  of  any  one  who  is  intelli- 
gent." 

My  master  helped  Maria  and  myself  to  get  on  to 
the  ground.  "Behold,"  he  said  to  the  lieutenant,  with 
a  little  smile  of  mischief,  "our  Maria,  who  is  not  with- 
out experience  of  being  carried  off,  does  not  seem 
to  be  much  afraid." 

"Oh,  no,"  she  laughed. 

The  lieutenant  shrugged  his  shoulders  and  he 
scowled.  "It  will  be  my  turn,"  he  declared,  "to  laugh 
to-morrow.  Fare  you  well."  He  saw  that  Don 
Eugenio  was  knocking  at  the  heavy  door,  and  instantly 
he  strode  away,  pulling  his  horse  after  him.  He  did 
not  turn  round  even  once  to  see  what  happened  to  us. 

Then  my  master  noticed  that  Maria's  face  was  over- 
cast. "Brave  little  girl,"  said  he,  "what  is  it  in  your 
head?" 

"About  the  mattress,"  she  replied,  "for  I  have  never 
slept  upon  another  one.  We  are  but  Indians,  at 
home,"  she  said,  "but  we  have  got  three  mattresses 
and  one  of  them  is  mine.  If  only  he  had  let  me  bring 
it  on  the  horse!" 

"But  think  of  the  poor  horse,"  said  Don  Eugenio. 

"I  think  of  you,"  she  said. 

The  door  was  iDeing  opened  and  the  face  of  an 
astonished  man,  a  servant,  peered  at  us  out  of  the 
darkness. 

"Will  you  tell  Don  Arcadio,"  my  master  said,  "that 


54    THE  HOUSE  OF  THE  FIGHTING-COCKS 

I,  the  ex-librarian  of  the  Bishop  of  Zaragoza  in  Ara- 
gon,  have  just  arrived?  I  shall  be  very  glad  to  see 
him." 

There  was  no  change  in  the  servant's  swarthy  face. 

"These  are  two  friends  of  mine,"  said  Don  Eugenio. 
"Now  be  so  good  as  to  inform  your  master." 

"Let  it  be  so,"  said  the  man  resignedly.  "I  hope 
that  good  will  come  of  it."  He  turned  and  started 
walking  back  into  the  darkness  of  the  house. 

My  master  raised  his  voice,  in  order  that  this  foolish 
man  should  tell  us  where  to  put  the  mules.  And  he 
informed  us  that  there  was  indeed  a  stable,  a  very 
large  stable  with  a  room  on  the  top  of  it;  but  ever 
since  he  had  been  in  the  service  of  Senor  Quiroga 
nobody  had  used  it. 

"Nevertheless,"  quoth  he,  "I  will  take  you  there." 
He  moved  so  slowly,  and  I  was  so  tired  and  so  was 
Maria. 

Naturally,  in  the  stable,  which  lay  just  behind  the 
house,  there  was  no  morsel  for  the  mules  to  eat;  but 
this  the  man  perceived.  He  promised  that  while  we 
were  talking  to  his  master,  if  we  really  wished  to  talk 
to  him,  he  would  for  his  part  try  to  borrow  grass  from 
some  one  in  the  street.  On  that  side  of  the  house  there 
were  no  steps  at  all;  the  door  gave  straight  on  to 
the  courtyard,  and  the  door  was  open.  .  .  .  We,  with 
our  small  quantity  of  luggage,  were  not  long  in  passing 
through  the  doorway,  but  we  had  to  wait  a  little  time 
until  Faustino,  the  bewildered  servant,  brought  a 
candle.  There  we  three  stood  in  the  darkness  of  a 
strange  abode,  but  Don  Eugenio  did  not  seem  to  be 
ill  at  ease. 

"It  is  too  probable,"  he  said,  "that  I  shall  have  to 
spend  the  night  in  conversation  with  our  host.  That 
is  my  chief  care." 


THE  HOUSE  OF  THE  FIGHTING-COCKS    55 

"I  have  my  faith  in  you,"  Maria  said,  "but  are 
you  sure  he  will  not  throw  us  out  into  the  street?" 

"My  child,"  said  Don  Eugenio,  "your  faith  in  me 
is  like  the  faith  of  most  of  us:  we  guard  it  very 
preciously  and  never  look  at  it.  .  .  .  Before  I  came 
into  this  house  I  had  my  moments  of  misgiving.  Now 
— well,  I  am  like  a  lover  who  is  on  the  point  of  seeing 
his  beloved." 

"Do  you  say  that?"  asked  Maria  in  a  tone  of  some 
surprise  and  sorrow. 

"It  is  difficult  for  you  to  understand.  I  have  been 
traveling  so  many  hundred  leagues  and  I  have  scarcely 
met  a  man  who  would  have  given  a  dilapidated  cloak 
for  one  of  these  church  manuscripts  Our  host,  the 
Noahcite,  will  know  how  to  appreciate  such  treas- 
ures." 

I  was  getting  quite  accustomed  to  the  darkness  of 
the  room,  when  I  heard  footsteps  coming  down  the 
stairs  and  we  could  see  each  other  by  Faustino's  torch 
that  was  approaching.  In  a  little  time  Faustino  en- 
tered the  bare  room  in  which  we  stood,  and  just  be- 
hind him  was  a  very  tall,  thin,  weary-looking  man,  the 
Noahcite. 

"My  servant  tells  me,"  said  the  Noahcite,  "that 
you  have  come  from  Aragon.  If  I  can  be  of  service 
to  you,  pray  command  me;  but  I  fear  that  both 
Faustino  and  myself  have  little  skill  for  entertaining. 
We  are  solitary  folk,"  he  said,  with  some  emotion. 

Don  Eugenio  stepped  forward,  and  his  face  shone 
as  if  not  a  single  torch  but  many  were  illuminating 
it.  "If  it  is  true  what  I  have  heard  of  you,"  said  he, 
"then  you  are  toiling  at  a  task  that  you  will  not 
accomplish.  I  acknowledge,  Don  Arcadio,  that  with 
an  aim  so  noble  it  does  not  so  greatly  matter  if  you 
do  or  do  not  reach  it." 


56    THE  HOUSE  OF  THE  FIGHTING-COCKS 

The  tall  gentleman  bowed  stiffly.  "You  have  come 
to  help  me  in  my  work?"  he  said. 

"I  will  not  hide  it  from  you,"  said  my  master,  "that 
I  would  not  otherwise  have  traveled  up  from  Vera- 
cruz. Correct  me,  sir,  if  I  be  wrong;  but  what  I 
gather  from  the  rumors  is  that  you  conceive  of  human 
knowledge  as  a  pyramid,  with  all  that  we  know  now 
the  base  of  it  and  with  the  knowledge  of  old  Noah 
as  the  apex." 

Don  Arcadio  bowed  again.  "Of  course,"  he  said. 
And  then  he  turned  round  to  Faustino,  in  whose  hand 
the  torch  was  trembling.  "Do  me  the  favor  of  pre- 
paring beds,"  quoth  he. 

"I  ought  to  have  explained,"  said  Don  Eugenio — 
while  Faustino  placed  his  torch  on  a  gilt  bracket  which 
projected  from  the  wall — "I  ought  to  have  explained 
that  this  is  Juanito  who  has  been  entrusted  to  me  by 
his  father,  one  Pedro,  a  breeder  of  fighting-cocks.  I 
undertook  to  supervise  the  education  of  the  lad,  who 
knows  already  how  to  read,  and  who  in  Colorado, 
where  I  found  him,  was  reduced  to  reading  newspapers 
and  a  poor  book  on  dancing.  This,"  he  pointed  to 
Maria,  "is,  as  you  perceive,  a  native  also." 

"I  have  a  light  hand  for  cooking  the  tamales,"  said 
Maria  to  the  Noahcite.  Her  voice  betrayed  that  she 
was  ill  at  ease. 

He  called  down  the  passage  something  to  Faustino 
that  I  did  not  hear  and  then  he  said  to  Don  Eugenio: 
"I  like,  sefior,  what  you  were  saying  of  the  pyramid." 

"If  you  are  near  the  top  of  it,"  said  Don  Eugenio; 
"if  you  are  now  concerned  with  Eastern  manuscripts 
or  other  sources  then  I  shall  be  of  no  use  to  you. 
But  if  the  Latin  writings  occupy  you  still  .  .  ." 

"Yes,  indeed,"  replied  our  host,  "that  is  the  case. 
I  have  not  made  much  progress  from  the  bottom  of 


THE  HOUSE  OF  THE  FIGHTING-COCKS    57 

the  pyramid.  I  see  you  understand  what  I  am  doing 
and,  if  I  may  say  so,  the  sublimity  of  my  purpose  does 
not  seem  absurd  to  you,  as  to  so  many  others,  all  of 
whom  I  mean  to  benefit." 

"To-morrow,"  said  my  master,  "we  will  set  to  work. 
And  yet,  perhaps  .  .  ."    He  hesitated. 

"Seiior,"  said  the  Noahcite,  "this  journey  from  the 
coast  will  have  fatigued  you,  and  you  certainly  must 
not  begin  to  work  before  to-morrow  morning." 

Don  Eugenio  smiled  a  little  ruefully.  "I  was  just 
wondering,"  he  said,  "it  was  a  thought  which  some- 
times comes  into  my  mind  that  all  our  knowledge  is 
in  vain.  It  seems  to  me  to  be  a  circle  which  does 
not  lead  anywhere." 

"Sir,  it  is  a  pyramid,"  said  Don  Arcadio. 

My  master  waved  his  hand.  "At  all  events,"  he 
said,  "we  shall  not  start  before  to-morrow.  Will  you 
let  us  go  to  where  your  servant  is  preparing  beds?" 

Our  host  took  up  the  torch  and  led  the  way.  My 
master  pinched  me  as  we  walked  along  and  whispered 
in  my  ear  that  it  would  not  suprise  him  if  we  found 
Faustino  sleeping  in  our  bed.  But  when  we  had 
mounted  the  stone  staircase — on  the  walls  were  faded 
tapestries — and  when  we  arrived  in  a  large  room  up- 
stairs we  saw  Faustino  very  busily  engaged.  He  had 
a  pile  of  mattresses  and  blue  sheets  on  the  floor  and, 
as  he  lifted  them  about,  he  muttered  to  himself. 

"He  is  the  best  of  servants,"  said  the  Noahcite  in 
a  low  voice,  as  we  four  stood  upon  the  threshold  of 
the  room.  "If  every  one  in  our  unhappy  country  were 
as  honest!" 

"Pardon  me,"  said  Don  Eugenio,  "but  I  have  never 
thought  that  honesty  is  natural  to  man.  You  take 
a  lofty  view.    As  for  any  country  being  happy  .  .  ." 

"It  is  to  accomplish  that,"  exclaimed  the  Noahcite, 


58    THE  HOUSE  OF  THE  FIGHTING-COCKS 

"that  I  have  worked  for  all  these  years.  And  even 
if  I  die  before  the  task  is  finished  I  shall  have  my 
followers." 

He  spoke  so  loudly  that  Faustino  heard  him  and 
turned  round,  and  with  a  most  pathetic  look.  "If  it 
please  your  honor,  I  have  not  yet  made  the  beds," 
quoth  he.  "I  have  been  thinking  that  I  am  a  useless 
person  and  that  you  must  pension  me." 

"Nay,  Faustino,"  said  the  Noahcite,  "do  not  lose 
heart." 

Maria  said  that  she  would  help  him. 

"Ha!"  The  Noahcite  observed  her  for  the  first 
time.  "Well,  well,  well — we  have  a  woman  in  the 
house,  Faustino." 

And  Faustino,  who  was  standing  with  his  bare  foot 
on  a  blue  sheet,  nodded  gravely,  saying,  "May  it  please 
your  honor." 

"So  that  you  and  I,"  the  Noahcite  said  to  my 
master,  "we  can  go  downstairs  and  have  a  little  conver- 
sation suitable  for  men  of  sense,  such  as  'Why  should 
A  begin  the  alphabet?'  or  'What  is  God?'  "  He  took 
my  master  by  the  arm. 

"Remain  and  help  Maria  and  be  quick,"  my  master 
said  to  me,  a  little  breathlessly,  as  he  was  being  pulled 
away. 

And  very  soon  we  had  the  three  beds  ready,  each 
one  in  a  different  corner.  Faustino  started  telling  us 
how  he  had  been  for  many  years  the  servant  of  his 
master,  but  Maria  told  me  that  if  I  was  tired  I  could 
go  to  bed  and  sleep. 


CHAPTER  V 

It  was  Maria's  laugh  that  woke  me  up.  The  room 
was  all  in  darkness  and  I  heard  the  tender  voice  of 
Don  Eugenio. 

"And  so  it  is,"  said  he.  "The  poor  man  is  entirely 
mad.  I  was  afraid  that  this  would  be  the  case.  And 
I  am  right." 

"Oh,"  she  was  murmuring,  "you  are  so  great  and 
wise  and  clever." 

"That  is  nothing,"  said  my  master.  "But  I  must 
say  it  is  tragic  that  a  man  should  get  his  head  confused 
because  of  wanting  with  so  great  an  ardor  to  make 
everybody  happy." 

"I  am  happy,  I  am  happy,"  sighed  Maria. 

"My  dear  little  one,"  said  Don  Eugenio. 

Now  I  could  see  a  little  more  distinctly,  but  I  still 
could  not  see  either  of  them,  and  I  think  they  spoke 
no  more. 

When  I  woke  up  again,  Maria  had  undone  the 
shutters.  It  was  a  most  brilliant  morning.  I  sat  up 
in  bed  and  watched  Maria,  who  was  far  more  lovely, 
so  I  thought,  than  on  the  previous  day.  The  sunlight 
danced  all  round  her,  and  she  seemed  herself  to  dance 
to  music  which  I  could  not  hear.  In  the  far  corner  of 
the  room  my  master,  Don  Eugenio,  still  lay  a-bed  and 
slept.  And  so  that  I  should  not  awaken  him  she  came 
towards  me  with  a  finger  on  her  lip.  Oh,  she  was 
beautiful  indeed. 

She  sat  down  at  my  side  and  put  her  arms  around 
me  in  a  way  to  which  I  was  quite  unaccustomed; 

59 


6o    THE  HOUSE  OF  THE  FIGHTING-COCKS 

for  my  mother,  though  she  was  so  fond  of  me,  had 
rarely  treated  me  in  such  a  fashion.  And  the  other 
women  of  our  village  were  true  Indians,  with  the  sole 
exception  of  the  wanton  woman  Enriqueta,  and,  for- 
sooth, that  woman  did  not  spend  her  kisses  on  the 
little  boys. 

When  Maria  kissed  me  in  the  radiance  of  that 
morning  at  Jalapa  I  did  not  feel  shy,  as  I  have  heard 
that  others  in  such  circumstances  would  have  felt; 
but  I  remember  very  well  how  something  seemed  to 
break  inside  me. 

Then  my  master  Don  Eugenio  began  to  move. 
Maria  took  her  place  beside  the  open  window,  looking 
out  of  it.  She  laughed  in  merriment,  as  if  the  sun- 
light was  in  all  her  graceful  body.  I  had  never  seen 
a  woman  like  Maria. 

^^Hola,"  quoth  my  master,  "have  you  taken  it  into 
consideration  that  we  are  inside  a  mad-house?" 

"Senor,"  she  replied  demurely,  "it  was  you  who 
brought  us.    Shall  we  try  to  find  another  house?" 

"The  Devil!  As  if  that  were  easy!  I  suppose  we 
must  endure  it  for  a  time,"  he  said. 

"Oh,  yes,"  said  she. 

My  master  got  up  from  the  bed.  Of  course  he  had 
lain  down  with  all  his  garments  on  except  the  coat, 
for  in  Jalapa  it  is  cold  at  nights.  "And  after  all," 
he  said  as  he  walked  over  to  the  window,  "after  all, 
there  is  no  danger  in  the  madness  of  this  Noahcite. 
I  heard  of  two  professors  who  were  filled  with  hatred 
for  each  other:  one  of  them,  Tuphantius,  composed  a 
treatise  very  learned,  very  serious,  and  very  long,  to 
prove  that  the  inhabitants  of  ancient  Greece  had  an 
effective  hair-wash,  for  in  certain  of  their  tombs  he 
had  discovered  something  which  he  swore  was  hair- 
wash;    then  Magerius,  his  rival,  wrote  a  still  more 


THE  HOUSE  OF  THE  FIGHTING-COCKS    6i 

learned  and  more  serious  and  longer  book  to  prove 
that  the  Assyrians  possessed  a  hair-wash  which  was 
more  effective,  seeing  that  in  all  his  work  among  their 
burial-places  not  a  trace  of  hair-wash  had  been  found 
by  him  or  anybody  else." 

Maria  was  now  looking  out  into  the  street  and  Don 
Eugenio  did  not  ask  if  she  had  listened  to  him.  After 
he  had  softly  patted  her  upon  the  head  and  let  his 
hand  run  halfway  down  her  hanging  hair,  he  also 
gazed  out  of  the  window  and  he  talked,  but  I  heard 
nothing  till  he  suddenly  turned  round  and  told  me 
that  he  would  go  out  and  make  an  exploration  of  this 
town. 

The  tapestries  which  hung  upon  the  staircase  walls 
were  very  old  and  difficult  to  understand,  and  Don 
Eugenio,  after  peering  at  them  with  his  eyes  screwed 
up,  said  that  he  could  make  nothing  of  them,  and  he 
looked  so  helpless.    He  had  spoiled  his  eyes,  said  he. 

Then  I  put  my  hand  in  his. 

But  he  began  to  laugh  quite  cheerfully.  "My  son," 
he  said,  "it  shows  how  much  we  stand  in  need  of  one 
another,  you  and  I.  The  general  and  the  scout — make 
way  for  us! — oh,  yes,  I'll  have  to  train  you  for  my 
scout." 

I  told  him  how  my  mother  used  to  hate  the  notion 
of  me  being  turned  into  a  soldier. 

"May   she  go   to   Paradise!"   said   Don   Eugenio. 

"And  when  you  have  an  opportunity  please  tell  her 

;   that  I  once  had  her  opinions  with  regard  to  soldiers. 

I  Oh,  I  tremble  when  I  think  of  what  Our  Father  thinks 

'  of  men  who  hate  another  class  of  men.     Such  people 

are  the  fools  of  fools,  and  while  I  am  sure  as  any  one 

can  be  that  God  is  fond  of  certain  fools,  I  am  not 

the  less  positive  that  there  are  fools  whom  He  detests. 

And  so  your  mother  must  not  hate  the  soldiers  or, 


62    THE  HOUSE  OF  THE  FIGHTING-COCKS 

indeed,  the  carpenters  or  the  philosophers  or  those 
who  sometimes  have  not  kept  the  laws  of  man.  But, 
on  the  other  hand,  if  she  will  pity  them  .  .  ." 

'The  carpenters,"  said  I,  "and  the — the "     I 

was  puzzled. 

'The  beginning  and  the  end  of  it,"  said  Don 
Eugenio,  "is  that  we  should  love  each  other,  and  we 
must  have  pity  for  all  those  we  love.  When  you  are 
a  little  older  you  will  see  the  truth  of  that." 

We  had  arrived  by  this  time  in  the  large  and  gloomy 
hall,  which  had  so  little  furniture,  and  we  had  noticed 
that  Faustino  was  asleep  upon  the  floor  in  front  of 
what  we  guessed  must  be  his  master's  room.  As  we 
came  close  to  him  he  did  not  waken,  though,  as  I 
walked  sideways,  looking  at  him,  I  tripped  up  against 
my  master's  feet  and  fell. 

The  iron-studded  door  was  hard  to  move,  but  Don 
Eugenio  and  I  were  able,  finally,  to  get  it  open  and 
to  leave  the  house.  Poor  old  Faustino  seemed  to  be 
enjoying  pleasant  dreams,  to  judge  by  the  expression 
of  his  face,  which  now  was  in  the  sunlight.  Yet  we 
thought  it  safer — we  knew  nothing  of  this  town — to 
slam  the  door,  and  whether  he  woke  up  we  did  not 
know. 

The  street  was  not  so  full  of  people  as  I  had  ex- 
pected. It  was  nearly  perpendicular,  I  saw,  and  no- 
body would  walk  there  if  he  could  avoid  it,  and  the 
riders  did  not  find  it  comfortable,  judging  from  the 
sour  expression  of  a  man  we  saw  on  mule-back,  who 
was  going  with  his  jars  of  milk  to  the  big  houses. 
Out  of  one  of  them — a  house  which  had  a  fountain 
in  the  patio — there  actually  came  a  man  with  whom 
I  was  acquainted.  Often  I  had  seen  him  drive  through 
Colorado  on  his  way  to  Veracruz  or  to  the  mountains, 
and  when  he  got  off  his  carriage  at  my  father's  house 


THE  HOUSE  OF  THE  FIGHTING-COCKS    63 

he  had  been  in  the  habit  of  allowing  me  to  don  his 
hat,  so  heavy  with  its  silver  decorations,  and  he  used 
to  promise  that  the  day  would  come  when  he  would 
show  me  the  great  world.  And  here  he  stood  in  front 
of  me  in  all  his  glorious  apparel — the  purple  plush 
jacket  and  the  colored  shirt,  the  red  sash  and  long 
leather  leggings.  I  was  sorry  that  Maria  was  not 
there  to  see  him  blinking  at  me. 

"What  has  happened?  What  has  happened?"  he 
inquired. 

'^I  am  here,"  said  I,  beaming  at  him. 

"Our  young  friend,"  said  Don  Eugenio,  "consented 
to  come  with  me,  and  I  hope  with  all  my  heart  that 
he  will  not  regret  it." 

Senor  Bias,  the  driver,  did  not  ask  us  why  we  had 
come  up  from  Colorado  or  in  whose  house  we  were 
living.  Possibly  he  would  have  asked  us  after  he  had 
finished  blinking;  but  the  one  who  spoke  was  Don 
Eugenio. 

"Excuse  me  if  I  talk  about  your  clothes,"  he  said, 
"they  are  so  distinguished." 

"Sir,  I  thank  you,"  said  the  driver. 

"Is  it  not  the  quiet  thrush,"  said  Don  Eugenio, 
"which  is  the  moral  bird  and  goes  back  to  the  last 
year's  mate?  And  do  not  birds  of  a  more  brilliant 
hue  exhibit  morals  of  a  looser  kind?" 

Senor  Bias  was  solemn.  "It  may  be  exactly  as  you 
say,"  quoth  he.  "And  I  am  much  obliged  to  you  for 
telling  me.  But  if  your  lordship  wants  to  talk  about 
my  own  attire,  that  is,  indeed,  a  theme  wherein  I  am 
instructed.  I  am  here  at  the  disposal  of  your  Honor 
if  you  wish  to  talk  of  that." 

"Let  us  go  up  to  the  plaza  yonder,"  said  my  master, 
"and  sit  underneath  the  trees." 

"I  go  with  you,"  said  Senor  Bias. 


64    THE  HOUSE  OF  THE  FIGHTING-COCKS 

And  as  both  of  them  were  corpulent  they  did  not 
speak  while  they  were  mounting  to  the  plaza.  Sefior 
Bias  laid  his  strong  hand  upon  my  head,  and  when 
I  looked  at  him  he  nodded  as  if  he  were  very  pleased. 

The  plaza  was  the  grandest  place  I  ever  had  beheld, 
with  a  band-stand  made  of  tin  which  glittered  in  the 
sun,  and  all  around  it  were  green  benches  and  the 
palm-trees  and  the  flowers.  A  few  inhabitants  sat 
negligently  on  the  shaded  benches,  two  or  three  were 
strolling  on  the  plaza's  yellow  sand,  and  none  of  them 
was  in  a  hurry.  It  was  all  majestic  even  as  the  build- 
ings round  about  the  plaza  and  the  range  of  mountains 
which  rose  up  out  of  the  mist  wherever  you  could 
see.  My  master  settled  down  upon  a  seat  with  Sefior 
Bias  beside  him,  panting;  as  for  me,  I  wandered  over 
to  where  somebody  was  selling  sweetmeats.  Pink  and 
brown  they  were — and  I  remember,  as  if  it  all  hap- 
pened yesterday,  that  I  did  not  more  long  for  them 
than  for  the  mountains  or  the  glittering  band-stand 
or  the  silver-mounted  hat  of  Senor  Bias  or  the  whole 
town  of  Jalapa.  And  the  man  knew  very  well,  I  saw, 
that  I  had  got  no  money,  for  he  did  not  interrupt 
his  morning  labors — he  took  every  sweetmeat  from 
its  place  and  blew  the  dust  off  and  then  put  it  back 
again. 

Ultimately  I  returned  across  the  plaza  to  my  friends. 
The  driver  was  just  taking  from  the  inside  of  his  hat 
some  cigarettes;  one  he  held  out  to  my  master  and 
another  one  he  placed  in  his  own  mouth.  "And  that," 
said  he — he  spoke  with  a  great  emphasis — "that  is 
Don  Maximiliano's  Empire.  It  will  have  an  end  ex- 
actly like  this  cigarette." 

"And  like  so  many  objects  that  we  think  important, 
such  as  our  own  world,  the  sun,  the  moon,  the  stars. 
I  always,"  said  my  master,  "think  the  nebula  in  the 


THE  HOUSE  OF  THE  FIGHTING-COCKS    65 

sword-handle  of  Orion  is  extremely  worth  our  notice, 
for  it  has  been  examined  and  described  by  various 
observers  since  the  day  of  its  discovery,  in  1656,  by 
Huyghens,  and  it  must  have  altered  greatly  both  in 
form  and  physical  appearance.  What  in  all  our  uni- 
verse is  permanent?  And  if  a  thing  so  monstrous 
could  exist,  it  could  not  enter  our  imagination." 

"Now,"  said  Sefior  Bias,  "do  not  pretend  I  have  not 
warned  you." 

Don  Eugenio  leaned  back  comfortably  on  the  bench 
and  smiled  a  little  and  "What  would  you  have  me  do?" 
he  asked. 

"Oh,  well,"  said  Senor  Bias,  "the  safest  thing  is  if 
you  will  do  nothing.  Then  perhaps  the  enemies  of 
Maximiliano  will  not  kill  you." 

"How  is  this?"  cried  Don  Eugenio.  "Since  I  have 
landed  in  the  country  I  have  not  had  my  attention 
called  to  any  rivalry.  To  tell  the  truth,  I  know  that 
Maximiliano  is  the  Emperor,  and  he  is  sure  to  have 
opponents." 

"May  God  protect  you,  sir,"  said  Serior  Bias. 

He  was  rather  agitated  then,  my  master,  and  he 
threw  his  cigarette  away  into  the  sand.  "Do  you 
mean  to  say  it  is  as  serious  as  that?"  he  asked.  "And 
everywhere,  at  Veracruz  and  in  the  villages  through 
which  I  came,  I  fancied  that  the  population  was  quite 
reconciled  to  having  European  soldiers  in  their  midst 
— and,  by  the  way,  these  soldiers  seem  to  be  so  scanty 
that  the  people  cannot  feel  oppressed." 

"They  will  be  scantier,"  said  Senor  Bias,  "for  it  has 
been  decided  that  the  French  troops  are  to  be  with- 
drawn— the  last  of  them  will  go  in  1867,  that  is  next 
year,  in  the  spring — and  then  we  Mexicans  will  have 
our  fatherland  again.  Que  viva  Mexico!"  These 
pious  words  he  uttered  rather  loudly,  and  the  idlers 


66    THE  HOUSE  OF  THE  FIGHTING-COCKS 

on  the  benches  gazed  at  him;  the  sweetmeat- vendor, 
who  was  pouring  out  a  drink  for  one  of  them,  came 
over  to  us  and  inquired  of  Senor  Bias  if  he  could  serve 
him. 

The  fat  driver  nodded.  "Here  we  have  a  gentle- 
man," he  said,  "who  is  not  much  acquainted  with  our 
country." 

"Then  the  best  thing  is  to  give  him  of  the  snow  of 
Orizaba,  flavored,"  said  the  vendor,  "with  a  little  pine- 
apple." He  mixed  them  in  two  glasses,  and  for  me 
he  took  a  sweet  out  of  his  bosom. 

"Let  us  drink,"  my  master  said,  "to  Mexico.  And, 
after  all,  why  should  they  not  have  their  own  father- 
land? And  what  a  fatherland!  I  come  from  Aragon 
of  the  green  valleys  and  the  river  Ebro,  which  is  one 
of  the  great  rivers.  I  would  not  have  come  away  from 
Aragon,  the  generous  fields  of  Aragon,  if  I  could  have 
remained  there  as  a  peaceful  farmer.  But  I  am  not 
sorry  that  I  came  to  Mexico,  which  is  more  grandiose 
and  just  as  fertile,  if  not  more.  The  people  in  the 
villages  are  well-contented — how  could  they  be  other- 
wise?— and  when  their  fatherland  is  given  back  com- 
pletely to  them,  they — they  will  ..." 

"They  will  slay  each  other,"  said  Sefior  Bias. 

"I  beg  your  pardon,"  said  my  master.  "Oh,  you 
are  trying  to  make  your  country  seem  remarkable, 
even  more  so  than  it  is.  But  have  I  not  observed  the 
people?  They  appear  to  me  as  if  they  erred  a  little 
on  the  side  of  sluggishness  and  you  would  have  me 
think  of  them  as  fighting-cocks!" 

The  vendor  made  two  other  drinks,  which  they  re- 
ceived, and  then  he  left  us,  saying  that  he  would 
return. 

"About  the  fighting-cocks,"  said  Sefior  Bias,  "I 
probably  know  less  than  Juanito  here.    Notwithstand- 


THE  HOUSE  OF  THE  FIGHTING-COCKS    67 

ing,  I  am  dubious  if  they  would  fight  unless  they  had 
the  education.  But  I  know  my  mules,"  he  said,  "for 
I  have  sixteen  of  them  harnessed  very  often  at  the 
same  time  to  the  coach  and  I  regret  to  tell  you  that 
they  are  like  us,  the  Mexicans.  They  can  be  roused 
from  slothfulness" — he  took  a  handful  of  sharp  stones 
out  of  his  pocket — ''these  are  what  I  hurl  at  them," 
he  said,  "and  bitter  words  that  sting  their  ears.  The 
people  of  this  country — Indians,  Spaniards,  and  the 
half-castes — would  prefer  to  do  nothing,  and  when 
they  are  roused  to  deeds  those  are  the  deeds  of  wicked- 
ness." 

Don  Eugenio  took  a  draught  of  his  snowed  pine- 
apple. "And  look  round  there,"  he  said,  "the  gorgeous 
vegetation  and  the  mountains  rising,  range  on  range 
— it  is  so  beautiful." 

"I  wager  you  an  ounce  of  gold,"  said  Seiior  Bias, 
"that  you  will  wish  you  had  not  come  to  Mexico." 

"But  in  this  paradise  a  human  being  cannot  surely 
be  below  all  other  human  beings.  Or  I  wonder  if  they 
feel  discomfited  by  so  much  loveliness." 

The  driver  shrugged  his  shoulders.  "They  are  all 
the  same,"  he  said,  "and  those  who  come  here  they 
become  as  we  are.  There  is  a  lieutenant-colonel  of 
gendarmes,"  he  said,  "a  Dutchman  who  incarcerates 
suspected  persons  in  the  prison  of  the  capital  and  there 
he  bastinadoes  them.  If  I  were  you,"  said  Senor  Bias, 
"I  would  consort  with  nobody  except  your  Don  Ar- 
cadio  in  that  house  of  the  Corpus  Christi  Street  from 
which  I  saw  you  come.    He  is  a  madman." 

For  a  little  while  they  did  not  speak  and  Don 
Eugenio  was  looking  very  troubled. 

"Thus  it  is,"  said  Senor  Bias,  "God  be  my  witness. 
But  if  you  have  been  unfortunate  in  many  things  you 
have  been  fortunate  in  finding  me,  since  I  will  always 


68    THE  HOUSE  OF  THE  FIGHTING-COCKS 

help  you  to  escape,  if  I  am  in  the  neighborhood  when 
there  is  grievous  trouble." 

"Oh,  thank  you,"  said  my  master,  in  a  mournful 
voice.  "And  now  may  you  fare  well.  I  must  return 
to  Don  Arcadio,  my  madman."  He  got  up  and  took 
me  by  the  hand. 

But  we  had  not  proceeded  more  than  ten  steps  from 
the  plaza  when  there  rushed  upon  us  Senor  Bias;  he 
rushed  between  us  and  exhorted  Don  Eugenio  to  be  of 
better  cheer.  "You  are  a  very  learned  man,"  he  said, 
"and  those  who  have  a  life  so  rich  they  have  two 
lives  or  three  to  that  of  ordinary  folk.  Is  that  not 
so?" 

"Well,  if  they  stand  me  up  for  execution,"  said  my 
master,  "I  shall  be  well  occupied,  I  am  glad  to  think, 
in  meditating  on  what  you  have  told  me." 

"But  they  make  you  dig  your  grave,"  said  Seiior 
Bias.  "But  no!  That  is  enough  of  all  such  things. 
What  were  you  telling  me  about  my  clothes?" 

We  went  on  walking  down  the  steep,  deserted  road 
to  Don  Arcadio's  house. 

"It  was  that  I  am  like  a  little  bird,"  said  Seiior  Bias. 

My  master  stopped  and  laid  his  hand  upon  the 
driver's  arm.  "Dear  friend,"  quoth  he,  with  a  most 
pleasant  smile,  "you  have  been  warning  me  so  well 
of  all  the  dangers  that  I  run,  and  in  exchange  I  do 
believe  that  it  is  in  my  power  to  warn  you  of  some 
other  perils." 

Seiior  Bias  was  also  smiling  and  he  patted  my  dear 
master  on  the  back.  "But,  hombre!  I  can  take  good 
care,"  he  said,  "for  my  own  self.  Be  not  perturbed 
on  my  behalf,  I  pray  you." 

"Very  likely,"  said  my  master,  "I  am  altogether 
wrong  when  I  suggest  that  in  our  morals  we  resemble 


THE  HOUSE  OF  THE  FIGHTING-COCKS    69 

birds  and  that  a  person  who  is  brilliantly  clad  is  more 
inclined  to  waywardness." 

"I  said  you  are  a  learned  man,"  cried  Seiior  Bias, 
with  much  enthusiasm,  "and  that  is  the  fact  indeed." 

My  master  sadly  shook  his  head.  "There  may  be 
just  a  little  truth  in  it,"  quoth  he,  "since  those  who 
find  themselves  arrayed,  be  it  by  nature  or  by  man's 
decree,  in  merry  plumage  have  to  bear  the  brunt  of 
more  temptation  than  we  others — than  we  others,  who 
have  quite  enough  to  bear,  God  knows." 

But  Senor  Bias  was  puzzled.  He  pushed  back  his 
fine  sombrero  and  he  scratched  his  forehead.  "I  was 
friendly  with  a  sparrow  once,"  he  said,  "and  saw  him 
take  a  wife.  They  had  six  children.  And  when  these 
had  flown  away  he  pecked  his  wife  and  she  flew  after 
them." 

"I  am  afraid,"  said  Don  Eugenio,  "that  there  was 
very  little  in  my  notion  after  all.  And  how  presump- 
tuous of  me  to  take  your  clothes  for  an  example!" 

"No!  no!"  Senor  Bias  exclaimed,  "no!  no!  You 
are  the  learned  one  and  you  have  given  me  a  new 
idea,  and,  as  you  said,  we  both  of  us  will  help  each 
other.  I  will  help  you  with  my  coach  when  it  is 
needful,  and  I  know  that  you  will  help  me  when — 
who  is  that  woman  flying  up  the  street?" 

It  was  Maria  with  her  wondrous  hair  all  out  behind 
her.     She  was  uttering  strange  sounds. 

"Well,  well,"  said  my  master. 

Senor  Bias  was  grunting  out  his  disapproval.  "She 
must  be  a  very  shameless  woman,"  he  observed. 

Breathlessly  she  rushed  towards  us  and,  with  a  deep 
sigh  of  satisfaction,  flung  herself  into  the  arms  of 
Don  Eugenio. 


CHAPTER  VI 

Nothing  terrible  had  happened  to  Maria;  she  was 
merely  in  a  fright  lest  Don  Eugenio  should  not  return. 
And  now  that  she  discovered  that  her  fears  were  base- 
less she  became  extremely  playful.  With  a  ringing 
laugh  she  flung  round  Don  Eugenio's  head  her  long, 
black  hair;  as  if  it  were  the  coil  of  rope  which  horse- 
men from  their  saddle  hurl  so  accurately  round  the 
front  legs  or  the  hind  legs  of  an  untamed  horse,  the 
black  hair  of  Maria  had  encircled  Don  Eugenio's  head 
and  he  was  helpless.  There  he  stood  and  gasped  and 
spluttered,  and  he  did  not  see  the  face  of  Seiior  Bias, 
he  did  not  hear  the  sound  of  his  quick  steps  as  he 
departed  from  us. 

Naturally,  I  presumed  my  master  would  explode  in 
wrath  and  would  be  furious  against  Maria,  or,  indeed, 
would  send  her  packing.  As  she  swayed  -from  side  to 
side  in  laughter — and  she  clapped  her  hands  together 
and  put  them  on  the  eyes  of  Don  Eugenio,  while  he  was 
gradually  disentangling  himself — I  thought  that  she 
was  something  from  another  world,  and  that  I — that 
I  was  no  less  a  personage  than  the  ferocious  and 
superb  lieutenant-colonel  they  had  just  been  speak- 
ing of. 

When  I  began  to  write  these  recollections  I  did  not 
intend  to  say  much  of  myself,  for  what  am  I  compared 
with  Don  Arcadio,  the  Noahcite,  and  Don  Eugenio 
and  Faustino?  It  is  not  that  I  am  despicable;  my 
dear  master,  Don  Eugenio,  explained  to  me — perhaps 
I  have  to  thank  him  most  of  all  for  this — that  we 

70 


THE  HOUSE  OF  THE  FIGHTING-COCKS    71 

shall  certainly  find  men  and  women  and  ourselves 
endurable  if  only  we  observe  them,  and  that  of  all 
pleasures  there  is  none  so  great  as  observation.  What 
I  placed  before  myself  was  to  describe,  since  no  one 
else  will  do  so,  the  few  months  when  these  three  men 
were  living  side  by  side.  Of  course,  we  others  formed 
the  background,  and  a  background  has  to  be  included 
in  the  picture;  but  as  demonstrating  how  much  I 
have  fallen  short  of  my  intention,  and  how  very  little 
alien  matter  I  would  wish  to  have,  it  is  the  truth  that 
if  my  first  plan  had  been  carried  out  in  its  austerity 
such  episodes  would  not  have  been  admitted  as,  for 
instance,  my  awakening  from  boyhood  into  adoles- 
cence at  Maria's  hand  there  in  the  sunlight  of  the 
street.  And  I  am  sure  that  numerous,  far  less  im- 
portant episodes  about  myself  and  all  those  others 
will  adhere  to  this  my  wandering  record. 

It  was  rather  early  in  the  day  for  people  to  be 
sitting  on  the  balconies  or  to  be  watching  from  behind 
the  iron  bars  or  from  the  upper  windows;  otherwise 
they  would  have  witnessed  our  most  curious  advance 
towards  the  house  of  Don  Arcadio.  We  walked 
abreast,  and  each  of  us  was  occupied  with  his  or  her 
ideas:  the  girl  was  nearly  dancing,  I  was  nearly  burst- 
ing, and  my  master,  who  perceived  that,  anyhow, 
Maria  was  in  a  condition  to  be  left  alone,  smiled 
gravely  and  a  little  ruefully  at  his  own  meditations,  of 
the  days,  I  think,  when  he  was  youngef.  I  thought 
it  then,  and  Don  Eugenio  appeared  to  me  just  at  that 
time  to  be  a  very,  very  aged  man.  I  felt  so  sorry  for 
him — he  would  lose  Maria. 

At  the  entrance  of  the  Noahcite's  abode  there  stood 
Faustino  with  a  twitching  mouth.  He  did  not  seem 
to  know  how  to  begin  to  speak  to  us,  he  rubbed  his 
forefinger  athwart  his  chin  and  back  again,  and  then 


72    THE  HOUSE  OF  THE  FIGHTING-COCKS 

he  said  to  Don  Eugenio  that  it  would  be  good  if  we 
came  with  him,  Don  Eugenio  and  I,  to  see  his  master 
who,  he  added,  had  been  searching  for  us  a  long  time 
ago. 

Faustino  shuffled  off  in  front  of  us  and  glanced 
across  his  shoulder  more  than  once.  And  as  Maria 
went  up  the  stone  staircase  she  threw  us  merry  glances. 
I  believe  that  she  was  singing  to  herself,  but  I  could 
not  catch  any  of  the  words.  Faustino  kept  on  jerking 
round  his  head,  as  if  to  make  sure  we  were  follow- 
ing. And  in  the  darkest  corner  of  the  hall  he  tapped 
upon  a  door.  ...  He  waited  patiently  and  then  he 
tapped  again.  My  master  muttered  something,  but 
Faustino  made  as  if  he  did  not  hear  him.  Very  gently, 
as  a  leaf  that  flutters  to  the  ground,  Faustino  tapped 
again  upon  the  faintly  shining  door;  and  when  my 
master  pointed  out  that  this  was  foolish  if  the  Noah- 
cite  desired  our  presence  he  did  not  reply,  and  then 
at  last  the  door  was  opened  and  the  Noahcite,  .so  tall 
and  gaunt  and  dignified,  was  asking  us  to  enter.  Evi- 
dently he  was  suffering  from  some  excitement. 

Over  Don  Eugenio's  head  I  saw  long  rows  of  books 
that  reached  up  to  the  ceiling.  Don  Eugenio  passed 
hurriedly  into  the  room  and,  after  stooping  down  to 
see  what  books  and  documents  were  piled  on  one  of 
the  four  tables,  he  made  first  a  step  to  this  side,  then 
to  that,  and  finally  was  very  much  like  a  bewildered 
bull  that  bounds  into  the  ring. 

"Welcome  to  my  library,"  said  Don  Arcadio.  "But 
let  me  ask  how  you  have  slept." 

My  master  went  on  breathing  heavily. 

"Oh,  well,"  said  Don  Arcadio,  "we  must  throw  away 
these  ceremonies.  Will  you  stay?  Speak!  Are  you 
going  to  be  like  my  assistants  who  have  gone — I  need 
not  tell  you  why,  but  they  have  gone,  and  now  the 


THE  HOUSE  OF  THE  FIGHTING-COCKS    73 

years  are  coming  over  me — there  is  no  time  to 
waste  .  .  ." 

"What  books!"  ejaculated  Don  Eugenio. 

"Most  of  them  are  worthless,"  said  the  Noahcite. 
"I  mean  that  for  my  purpose  .  .  ." 

Don  Eugenio  was  at  a  book-shelf.  All  the  room  was 
lined  with  book-shelves,  leaving  only  space  for  several 
windows  and  between  two  of  the  windows,  on  a  space 
of  empty  wall,  there  hung  what  afterwards  they  told 
me  was  a  map,  a  pale  brown  sheet  with  brown  men 
and  great  birds  and  rivers  painted  on  it. 

"I  have  come  to  a  conclusion,"  said  the  Noahcite, 
"and  I  am  in  the  hope  that  you,  sefior  the  ex-librarian, 
will  agree  with  me.  It  is  that  in  geology  we  have 
the  science  which  reveals  what  is  contained  in  human 
heads." 

"And  I,"  said  Don  Eugenio,  "have  been  lamenting 
all  these  years  the  loss  to  Spain  of  that  collection  of 
the  Marquis  of  Astorga,  whose  three  thousand  and 
four  hundred  books  were  sold  to  Scotland.  Here  ir 
front  of  me  is  a  collection  of  such  grandeur  as  the 
Marquis  in  his  dreams  could  not  attain  to!" 

"Pardon  me,"  said  Don  Arcadio,  "but  for  many 
years  I  was  the  slave  of  all  these  books.  A  score  of 
them  would  summon  me  at  once,  and  I  endeavored  to 
reply  to  each  demand.  Of  course  I  sometimes  was 
enchanted  by  a  certain  book,  so  that  all  others  were 
forgotten;  afterwards  I  would  incessantly  be  rushing 
hither,  thither — it  was  blissful,  always  in  the  chase  of 
knowledge.  And  if  any  one  has  ever  had  a  greater 
ecstasy  and  a  more  perfect  happiness  from  literature 
of  the  imagination  than  I  had  from  literature  of  knowl- 
edge— no,  it  is  impossible."  His  eyes  were  brilliant. 
"Then  I  recollected  it  was  not  the  happiness  of  me 
alone  but  of  my  fellows  that  I  was  pursuing.     If  I 


74    THE  HOUSE  OF  THE  FIGHTING-COCKS 

had  continued  in  that  mode  of  study  I  should  never 
have  been  able  to  assemble  in  my  own  head  all  the 
knowledge  of  mankind  and  thus  work  backwards  to 
the  knowledge  which  lay,  as  it  were  an  acorn,  in  the 
head  of  Noah.  By  supreme  good  fortune  I  discovered 
that  my  goal — and  surely  a  great  goal  it  is — was  more 
accessible  a  thousand  times  if  I  no  longer  roamed 
down  every  path,  but  strode  with  guch  persistence  as 
I  have  along  the  one  path  of  geology.  Most  excellent 
senor,  I  have  explained  myself  to  you."  He  bowed 
from  his  great  height  a  little  stiffly. 

Don  Eugenio  was  at  one  of  the  far  book-shelves, 
with  his  back  half-turned  towards  us.  'He  was  croon- 
ing over  certain  volumes  as  he  passed  his  fingers  over 
them.  And  yet  he  had  been  listening  to  the  Noahcite, 
for  he  began  at  once  to  answer 'him.  "I  will  remain 
with  you  and  work  with  you,"  said  he,  "so  long  as 
God  permits.  I  have  been  told  that  the  political  con- 
ditions of  this  country  .  .  ." 

"That  is  nothing!"  cried  our  host.  "And  you  will 
stay  and  work  with  me!  Now  I  am  certain  that  my 
task  will  be  accomplished.  You  shall  have  the  room 
above  the  stable,  for  it  is  extremely  quiet." 

"Many  thanks,"  said  Don  Eugenio,  "and  later  on, 
no  doubt,  you  will  explain  in  a  most  lucid  fashion  why 
geology  is  to  assist  us  to  the  goal  you  have  in  view. 
But  for  the  moment  I  prefer  to  gaze  at  these  inestima- 
ble treasures.  H ombre!  you  have  talked  of  happiness. 
And  here  you  have  a  very  good  edition  of  the  Jesuit 
Acosta's  'Natural  and  Moral  History  of  the  Indies, 
both  East  and  West.'  How  shall  I  enjoy  to  read 
again  what  the  glorious  Chrysostom  and  Theodoritus, 
a  grave  writer,  and  Theophilactus  had  to  say  about 
the  sky  which  does  extend  or  else  does  not  extend  over 
all  our  world.    I  will  give  you  four  reals,"  he  said, 


THE  HOUSE  OF  THE  FIGHTING-COCKS    75 

"for  this  book,  the  'Ship  of  Fools';  the  edges  are 
scraped  to  clean  them  and  the  woodcuts  are  English 
copies  of  the  Dutch." 

"In  fact  it  is  not  worth  your  attention,"  said  the 
Noahcite. 

"Except  for  the  misprint  in  the  colophon.  There  is 
Londod  instead  of  London.  But  it  is  not  everybody 
who  has  got  my  tastes."  And,  like  a  true  bibliophile, 
he  was  quickly  turning  over  the  pages  in  order  to  se^^ 
if  any  of  the  quire  signatures  were  missing. 

"The  book  is  yours,"  laughed  the  Noahcite. 

Don  Eugenio  nodded  gratefully  and  slipped  the  vol- 
ume into  his  pocket.  "And,  of  course,"  he  said,  "you 
have  Orosius — who  can  be  surprised  that  King  Alfred 
of  England  translated  him?— this  copy,"  Don  Eugenio 
took  it  from  the  shelf,  "has  illustrations  by  the  worthy 
Sigebertus  Havercampus,  and  is  published  .  .  ." 

"Do  you  want  it?"  asked  the  Noahcite. 

"No!  no!"  He  put  it  back.  "And  here  is  one  of 
those  Venetian  school-books  I  have  only  heard  of,  with 
a  border  showing  very  accurately  how  the  master  flogs 
the  boy,  and  here,"  his  voice  was  quaking,  "here  is 
a  most  notable  collection  of  forged  charters  from 
Turin.  .  .  .  You  speak  of  happiness!" 

"Oh,  they  are  very  well,  these  books,"  said  Don 
Arcadio,  "but  I  do  not  regard  them.  All  my  time  is 
given  to  geology,  the  wondrous  science.  Let  me  tell 
you,"  said  our  host,  as  he  advanced  to  where  my 
master  stood,  and  speaking  in  the  same  tone  very 
earnestly,  so  that  I  found  it  difficult  to  hear  him— and 
Faustino  at  my  side  did  not  seem  to  make  any  effort 
to  hear  anything— "let  me  tell  you,"  said  the  Noahcite, 
"what  are  the  special  virtues  of  geology.  It  is  the 
science  which  investigates  the  history  of  the  earth, 
and  all  around  us  lie  the  rocks  in  which  the  records 


76    THE  HOUSE  OF  THE  FIGHTING-COCKS 

of  this  history  are  written.  You  will  certainly  admit 
that  there  is  not  a  branch  of  natural  knowledge  which 
is  equally  wide  open  to  the  student  who  is  willing  to 
train  up  his  faculties  of  observation  and  to  discipline 
his  mind  by  the  patient  correlation  of  facts  and  the 
fearless  dissection  of  theories.  We  discover  what  ex- 
actly is  contained  inside  the  earth,  and,  since  man- 
kind is  fashioned  out  of  earth,  we  learn  what  is  in 
man." 

''Well,  well,"  said  Don  Eugenio,  smiling. 

"Have  you,"  asked  the  Noahcite,  "by  chance 
brought  with  you  any  book  upon  geology?" 

"Alas,"  said  Don  Eugenio,  "the  only  books  and 
manuscripts  that  I  could  carry  from  the  library  at 
Zaragoza  deal  with  sacred  subjects.  I  have  got  some 
Papers  of  the  Council  of  the  General  Inquisition  of 
Spain,  which  have  to  do  with  the  Republic  of  Andorra. 
The  Republic  was  in  striking  peril  then,  in  June  of 
1574,  because  the  Huguenots  were  coming  thither  out 
of  France.  You  may  be  interested  in  the  smooth 
caligraphy  of  the  Bishop  on  the  right,  whereas  the 
notes  made  by  King  Philip  on  the  left  are  in  a  large, 
wild,  careless  hand.  I  also  have  some  very  good 
Reports  of  the  Inquisitors  of  Aragon,  referring^  to  the 
cases  which  had  been  disposed  of  at  autos  da  je,  when 
the  condemned  were  charged  with  moral  crimes  and 
with  assisting  at  Mahometan  or  demoniac  ceremonies. 
I  have  these  in  a  most  exquisite  French  binding  of  a 
light  brown  calf,  probably  from  Lyons,  with  a  hand- 
some geometrical  design,  and,  in  the  surrounding  ara- 
besques of  black  and  silver,  is  the  representation  in 
gold  of  a  death's  head  and  of  other  religious  emblems, 
accompanied  by  a  motto.  I  have  likewise  a  good 
letter  in  Italian  from  the  son  of  James  the  Second, 
King  of  England,  to  the  Inquisitor-General  with  re- 


THE  HOUSE  OF  THE  FIGHTING-COCKS     77 

gard  to  the  due  payment  of  the  pension  of  four  thou- 
sand doubloons  yearly,  which  was  granted  to  himself 
and  children.  It  is  signed,  in  a  large,  lucid  writing, 
'Giacomo  R.'  And  I  have  brought  a  manuscript  of 
the  Dialogo  dos  Montes,  which  the  Rabbi  Saul  Levi 
Morteira  composed  in  Amsterdam  in  5406,  that  is  the 
year  1705.  It  is  the  copy  of  a  printed  book,  and  on 
the  title-page  is  a  most  decorative  wreath  of  flowers 
and  vegetables,  and  there  is  a  sepia  picture  of  Jehoso- 
phat,  the  Judge  with  sandaled  feet  and  with  a  plume 
upon  his  turban.  He  is  sitting  underneath  a  canopy, 
beside  the  mountains,  the  Mount  of  Carmel,  of  Sinai, 
of  Sion,  and  so  forth,  which  are  talking  to  each  other. 
And  I  have  a  Latin  pamphlet,  the  whole  sentence 
passed  upon  a  preacher  in  the  diocese  of  Zaragoza  who 
did  not  speak  well  of  the  Conception.  Finally,  I  have 
a  book  which  has  a  noble  binding;  it  came  to  my 
Bishop  from  the  library  of  Count  von  Hoym,  the 
envoy  of  the  Kingdoms  of  Saxony  and  Poland,  at  the 
Court  of  France  from  1720  to  1729.  It  was  executed 
for  him  by  Antoine  Michel  Padeloup,  whose  ticket — 
'Relie  par  Padeloup  le  jeune,  place  Sorbonne  a  Paris' — 
is  affixed  to  the  title-page  of  the  volume;  there  is  a 
doublure  of  inlaid  citron  morocco  with  a  beautiful 
dentelle  border  of  fine  tooling.  The  edges  of  the  leaves 
are  marbled  under  the  gilding." 

"We  were  talking  of  geology,"  said  Don  Arcadio, 
"and  I  am  glad  to  tell  you  that  I  have  a  manuscript 
of  Roger  Bacon's,  de  materia  terrae,  which  has  hitherto 
been  quite  unknown,  and  which  you  kindly  will  tran- 
scribe and  make  a  digest  of,  so  that  I  may  absorb  it. 
How  the  manuscript  came  into  my  possession  I  need 
not  relate.  You  will  be  careful  of  it,  I  am  sure,  since 
I  am  no  less  fond  of  it  than  Roger  Bacon  was  of  Peter 
Peregrinus,  of  Maricourt  in  Picardy." 


78    THE  HOUSE  OF  THE  FIGHTING-COCKS 

My  master  said  he  would  devote  himself  with  pleas- 
ure to  this  work,  and  how  could  he  begin  to  learn 
geology,  said  he,  from  any  one  more  sound  than  Roger 
Bacon? 

"It  is  excellent,"  said  Don  Arcadio,  "to  learn  as 
Peter  Peregrinus  did.  'He  is  ashamed,'  says  Bacon, 
'that  anything  should  be  known  to  laymen,  old  women, 
soldiers,  plowmen,  of  which  he  is  ignorant.'  And 
while  you  are  engaged,  my  friend,  with  this  important 
manuscript  the  boy  can  be  your  servant,  since  Faus- 
tino  is  no  longer  young." 

"The  boy,"  said  Don  Eugenio,  "has  been  entrusted 
to  me  by  his  father,  who  breeds  fighting-cocks  at  Colo- 
rado, a  most  worthy  man.  I  vowed  I  would  conduct 
his  Juanito  some  way  on  the  road  of  learning.  He 
can  learn  his  Latin  very  well  from  Roger  Bacon's 
treatise." 

"As  you  wish,"  said  Don  Arcadio,  "and  in  the  mean- 
time I  must  occupy  myself  with  yonder  map.  It  has 
to  do  not  only  with  geology,  but,  I  believe,  with  gold; 
and  therefore  by  t'^is  map  I  will  advance  another  step 
towards  my  philosophic  goal  and  simultaneously  I  will 
give  the  people  what  they  want;  while  I  am  on  the 
path  to  reach,  for  them,  eternal  happiness,  I  will  pro- 
vide them  with  a  happiness  that  passes,  if,  that  is  to 
say,  I  am  correct  in  my  surmise  that  certain  marks 
upon  the  map,  which  was  issued  on  the  ninth  of  Decem- 
ber of  1702  by  command  of  the  Count  de  la  Moraleda, 
Knight  of  the  Order  of  Saint  James,  Political  Chief 
and  Lieutenant-Captain-General  of  His  Highness  in 
the  province  of  Jalapa,  that  these  certain  marks  indi- 
cate gold." 

"I  am  an  adherent  of  the  Church,"  said  Don  Eu- 
genio, "and  yet  I  doubt  if  things  that  pass  away  are 
not  more  suitable  to  man,  if  they  are  not  more  lovely 


THE  HOUSE  OF  THE  FIGHTING-COCKS    79 

in  his  eye  than  that  which  is  eternal.  We  can  think 
of  this,  however,  on  some  other  day.  The  work  which 
I  am  now  to  do  involves,  I  understand,  no  more  than 
simple  knowledge  of  the  Latin  language.  What  do 
you  propose  to  do  concerning  Noah's  tongue?  Can  it 
be  possible  that  you  have  ascertained  the  speech  he 
used?" 

"I  would  have  come  to  that,"  said  Don  Arcadio, 
"but  there  is  no  vast  hurry,  seeing  that  we  have  enough 
to  keep  us  occupied — I  do  not  know  for  how  long. 
We  may  very  well  find  somebody  who  knows  the  sub- 
ject and  is  not  a  madman  as,  I  fear,  was  Colonel 
Charles  Valiancy.  Have  you  come  across  his  notion 
which  connects  the  Irish  language  with  the  Punic, 
Kalmuck,  and  the  language  of  the  Algonkin  Indians, 
with  Eg3^tian,  Persian,  Hindustani,  and  the  language, 
I  presume,  which  Noah  spoke?  This  gentleman,  who 
died  in  181 2,  had  become  'the  master  as  far  as  his 
leisure  would  permit'  of  Ancient  Irish.  He  would 
have  advised  us  to  acquaint  ourselves  with  Ancient 
Irish  and  if  we  excuse  ourselves  by  saying  he  was 
mad,  we  must  remember  how  disastrous  it  would  be 
if  all  the  so-called  madmen  of  the  world  had  been  sup- 
pressed. Faustino  will  conduct  you  now,  sir,  to  your 
room  and  I  will  work  in  this  one — though,  of  course, 
we  work  together.  It  shall  be  as  in  that  more  con- 
vincing Irish  legend  of  the  twelfth  century,  in  which 
the  fairy  asks  the  woman  to  go  with  him  to  the  land 
where  there  is  neither  mine  nor  thine." 

Faustino  started  shuffling  off,  so  sure  was  he  that  a 
suggestion  by  his  master  would  be  instantly  obeyed. 
And  Don  Eugenio,  as  he  and  I  were  walking  up  the 
great  stone  staircase,  told  me  that  I  must  forget  what 
he  was  saying  about  Don  Arcadio  being  mad.  "But 
the  intelligence,"  said  he,  "belongs  to  everybody,  more 


8o    THE  HOUSE  OF  THE  FIGHTING-COCKS 

or  less,  who  wanders  through  the  world,  and  he  will 
surely  lose  the  way  if  he  have  not  a  heart  to  steer 
by.    Let  us  hope  that  Don  Arcadio  .  .  ." 

At  this  moment  we  were  greeted  by  Maria,  who  was 
on  the  corridor  above.  "I  have  been  carrying  the 
clothes  of  Juanito  to  another  room  which  is  near  ours," 
she  said,  "and  I  have  waited  a  long  time  for  you  and 
I  have  spoken  from  the  window  to  that  Seiior  Bias, 
who  says  he  will  convey  us  back  to  Colorado  if  we 
wish  to  go  there," 

Don  Eugenio  patted  her  affectionately,  and  re- 
marked that  he  was  rather  out  of  breath,  not  owing 
so  much  to  the  staircase  as  to  all  her  catalogue  of 
news.  "I  have  had  a  rare  experience  to-day,"  quoth 
he,  "and  whither  we  are  going — who  can  tell?" 

"I  would  like  to  go  to  Colorado,  if  you  like,"  she 
said  demurely.    "I  have  never  driven  in  a  coach." 

"If  it  please  you,"  said  Faustino,  "we  have  had 
two  others  who  were  in  the  room  above  the  stable. 
One  of  them  fled  in  the  night  and  afterwards  the 
second  one  became  a  special  child  of  God — he  lost 
possession  of  his  ordinary  senses  and  betook  himself 
into  the  plaza  and  from  there  into  the  mountains, 
talking,  always  talking,  as  he  went." 

"I  see  that  you  believe  in  God,"  said  Don  Eugenio. 
"In  these  dark  days  of  unbelief  it  is  a  pleasure  to  find 
any  one  like  you,  who  cherishes  a  simple  and  a  lovely 
faith." 

Faustino  nodded.  "My  dear  master  told  me  that 
it  would  be  better  for  me  to  believe,"  said  he. 


CHAPTER  VII 

Don  Eugenic  and  I  did  not  stay  very  long  alone  that 
morning  in  the  spacious  study  which  had  been  assigned 
to  us  above  the  stable.  It  was  nothing  else  but  spa- 
cious when  we  got  there,  since  it  had  no  furniture 
at  all,  but  only  stains  upon  the  wooden  flooring  which 
were  due  to  Don  Eugenio's  predecessors  or  perhaps 
to  the  persistent  curtain  of  fine  rain,  the  chipi-chipi, 
which  at  certain  seasons  falls  upon  Jalapa  and  could 
come  into  this  room  by  any  of  the  three  dilapidated 
windows.  Now  the  sun  was  flowing  through  them 
very  gaily,  laughing  through  the  holes,  said  Don 
Eugenio,  as  if  it  were  a  child.  "I  think,"  said  Don 
Eugenio,  "that  if  it  were  not  for  the  people  who  are 
old  in  culture  we  should  have  no  laughing,  no  frivolity, 
no  childishness.    And  they  are  like  that  ancient  sun." 

Faustino  had  been  carrying  the  manuscript  of 
Bacon's  work  for  us.  He  laid  it  down  upon  the  floor 
and  said,  "I  ask  the  pardon  of  the  seiior  ex-librarian, 
but  will  he  have  some  chairs?" 

My  master  smiled.  "I  am  so  glad,"  quoth  he,  "that 
I  have  met  you.  And  I  hope  that  we  shall  stay  a 
long  time  here  with  you  and  the  august  philosopher." 

"Then  I  will  carry  in  some  chairs,"  observed  Faus- 
tino.   And  he  left  the  room. 

My  master  looked  about  him  for  a  time,  and  I  could 
see  that  he  was  filled  with  comfortable  thoughts.  And 
as  I  watched  him  he  became  more  serious,  but  pres- 
ently he  smiled  again,  and  in  a  child-like,  wistful  way. 
"If  only  it  will  last,"  he  murmured.  Then  he  saw 
that  I  was  gazing  at  him,  and  he  told  me  that  he  had 

8i 


82    THE  HOUSE  OF  THE  FIGHTING-COCKS 

been  thinking  of  our  future.  This  was  going  to  be 
the  room,  he  said,  in  which,  if  it  pleased  God  to  let 
him  stay,  he  would  be  able  honorably  to  earn  his 
bread,  by  working  for  the  Noahcite.  He  said  he  did 
not  care  a  bit  if  this  old  manuscript  of  Roger  Bacon's 
should  turn  out  to  be  monotonous  and  dull,  since  it 
would  be  a  way  of  showing  me  that  dullness  is  ex- 
tremely useful — ''I  once  had  a  friend,"  he  said,  "a 
poet  who  dwelt  in  my  town  of  Zaragoza.  He  was 
occupied  in  stamping  upon  round  pieces  of  chocolate 
a  picture  of  our  Saint  Eugracia.  He  held  the  choco- 
late with  his  left  and  stamped  it  with  his  right  hand, 
while  his  thoughts  were  free  to  wander;  and  if  his 
employment  had  not  been  so  dull  and  so  monotonous 
he  would  have  had  less  freedom;  and  I  think  that 
freedom,  not  of  body  but  of  mind,  is  the  most  precious 
thing.  At  all  events,  my  friend  who  stamped  the 
face  of  Saint  Eugracia  upon  numerous  round  discs  of 
chocolate  was  in  possession  of  such  happiness  that 
he  made  happy  all  his  household,  which  was  also  very 
numerous  and  very  poor.  However,  this  is  not  the 
time  for  reminiscence,"  said  my  master,  "though  I 
do  wish,  Juanito,  that  you  could  have  seen  that  friend 
of  mine — his  smile  was  like  the  song  of  birds.  What 
we  have  to  do  is  to  apply  ourselves  to  Roger  Bacon's 
treatise.  Incidentally,  you  will  become  acquainted 
with  the  Latin  language.  I  foresee  that — no!  to 
work!"  he  cried.  And  thereupon  I  did  my  best  to 
listen  and  he  did  his  best  to  be  like  other  teachers, 
till  the  moment  when  the  door  was  opened,  and  the 
Noahcite  stood  at  the  threshold,  with  Faustino  just 
behind  him. 

"I  have  come,"  said  Don  Arcadio,  "to  ask  if  you 
will  dine  with  me.  It  does  not  matter  very  much  if 
there  is  this  delay  in  our  great  work." 


THE  HOUSE  OF  THE  FIGHTING-COCKS    83 

''Oh,  not  at  all,"  said  Don  Eugenio,  as  he  rose 
laboriously  to  his  feet;  we  had  been  obliged  to  sit 
upon  the  floor.  "Oh,  not  at  all,"  said  he,  "I  have 
the  hunger  which  Cervantes  speaks  of  when  he  says 
in  the  Novelas  Exemplares  that  there  are  all  sorts 
of  things  in  the  world,  and  perhaps  hunger  drives 
ingenious  men  to  things  which  are  not  on  the  chart." 
My  master  rubbed  his  hands  most  cheerfully  and  made 
a  step  towards  the  door. 

But  Don  Arcadio  did  not  move.  It  never  struck 
me  more  than  at  that  instant  how  much  he  was  like 
one  of  those  statues  which  we  raise  in  Mexico  for 
generals  or  statesmen  and  which  look  as  if  they  are 
the  monuments  of  men  who  have  not  been  alive. 

"Perhaps,"  said  Don  Arcadio,  "it  would  be  well  to 
start  at  the  beginning  and  explain  to  you  precisely 
what  this  admirable  science  of  geology  has  taught  us." 

"Judging  from  those  rays  there  of  the  sun,"  quoth 
Don  Eugenio,  "and  not  to  mention  other  indications, 
I  am  pretty  sure  that  it  is  time  for  dinner." 

"Yes,"  said  Don  Arcadio,  very  earnestly,  "it  is  the 
time  for  dinner.  And  I  was  myself  upon  the  point  of 
talking  of  the  rays.  As  they  pass  through  the  air  they 
do  not  heat  it  of  a  sudden  or  directly,  but  they  heat 
the  land  and  the  sea,  which  absorb  some  of  the  rays 
and  reflect  others  and  so  warm  the  air  in  contact  with 
them.  But,  as  you  will  comprehend,  the  land  and 
sea  do  not  absorb  and  reflect  the  heat  rays  in  the  same 
fashion  or  to  the  same  extent;  nor  do  the  sun's  rays 
fall  equally  or  constantly  on  all  portions  of  tJie  earth's 
surface.  So  then,  from  various  causes,  onf.  part  of 
the  earth  is  always  being  warmed  in  a  different  way 
from  other  parts."    He  paused. 

"My  dear  sir,"  said  Don  Eugenio,  "I  believe  you 
said  that  you  would  tell  me,  with  this  famous  science 


84    THE  HOUSE  OF  THE  FIGHTING-COCKS 

of  yours,  exactly  what  is  in  the  earth,  so  that  we  may 
ascertain  exactly  what  is  in  ourselves  who  live  upon 
the  earth.  Weil,  it  is  my  opinion  that  if  you  begin 
with  the  sun  and  his  rays  your  program  will  take  you 
a  considerable  time." 

"The  sun  as  an  abode  of  life,"  said  Don  Arcadio, 
"we  may  at  once  put  out  of  the  question." 

"God  be  thanked!"  said  Don  Eugenio.  "And  let 
us  talk  about  the  rest  of  it  this  afternoon."  He  threw 
an  arm  round  the  thin  Noahcite,  and  off  they  went 
together. 

I  went  after  them,  as  did  Faustino.  On  the  way, 
so  far  as  I  could  make  it  out,  my  master  and  the 
Noahcite  were  talking  simultaneously,  but  yet  they 
did  not  seem  to  be  at  all  angry  with  each  other.  I 
believe  the  Noahcite  was  talking  of  that  ancient  map 
on  which  he  had  spent  all  the  morning. 

Thus  we  descended  the  stairs  and  passed  across  the 
sunny  courtyard  and  had  reached  the  long,  dark  pas- 
sage of  the  house,  when  suddenly  I  heard  the  Noah- 
cite stop  and  exclaim:  "It  is  the  truth  that  I  am  seek- 
ing, and  no  less !     The  truth  about  .  .  ." 

"Do  me  the  favor!"  quoth  Don  Eugenio. 

And  they  proceeded.  Into  the  large  hall  they  came, 
and  as  we  followed  them  I  was  astonished  when  the 
silent  one  who  walked  with  me,  his  hand  on  mine, 
began  with  that  very  hand  to  cross  himself,  and  when 
I  asked  him  what  the  reason  was  he  said  that  always 
before  Don  Arcadio  ate  his  dinner  it  was  the  habit  of 
him,  his  servant,  to  do  this.  "Oh,  that  he  may  be 
saved!"  murmured  Faustino. 

"But  is  anybody  going  to  poison  him?"  I  asked, 
because  he  was  not  one  of  those  wicked  priests  from 
Spain  nor  a  tax-gatherer  nor  anything  like  that. 

"I  am  not  a  very  good  cook,"  said  Faustino.    "Be- 


THE  HOUSE  OF  THE  FIGHTING-COCKS     85 

fore  I  came  here  I  was  other  things  and  never  a  cook. 
And  now  I  am  here,  as  you  see,  and  gradually  he  has 
sent  away  his  other  servants  and  so  for  several  years 
I  have  been  the  cook." 

Faustino  did  not  speak  rapidly;  by  the  time  he  had 
told  me  all  this  we  were  nearly  in  the  dining-room. 
That  he  should  take  me  so  into  his  confidence  made  me 
tremendously  excited,  and  I  had  to  ask  him  to  go  on, 
to  tell  me  what  he  had  been.  I  felt  sure  that  it  was 
something  most  mysterious. 

''Oh,  well,"  said  Faustino. 

"Do  you  see  Don  Eugenio?"  I  whispered.  "He  was 
brought  up  to  be  a  smuggler." 

But  even  this  did  not  arouse  in  him  the  spirit  of 
emulation.    "I  was  an  orphan,"  said  he. 

"What  did  you  do?"  I  entreated. 

I  must  have  spoken  loudly,  for  the  Noahcite,  who 
was  already  in  his  place,  with  Don  Eugenio  beside 
him,  turned  his  head  round  and  gazed  at  me.  His 
astonished  look  was  so  soon  melted  into  one  of  amuse- 
ment that  when  he  asked  me  what  I  wanted  to  know 
I  found  myself  courageous  enough  to  answer  him. 

"What  was  he  long  ago?"  I  blurted  out,  as  I  pointed 
to  Faustino.  "He  won't  tell  me  the  truth,"  I  com- 
plained, 

"Aha!"  laughed  Don  Eugenio,  "there  is  another  one 
who  is  like  your  worship  and  seeks  for  the  truth!" 

"And  why  not,  why  not  indeed?"  exclaimed  the 
Noahcite.  "Sir,"  said  he,  "I  fail  to  understand  you." 
And  he  motioned  me  that  I  should  sit  down  on  the 
chair  which  was  opposite  my  master. 

"Pray  do  not  imagine  that  I  am  a  cynic,"  said  my 
master.  "I  can  hate  excellently  well,  and  one  sort  of 
person  whom  I  do  hate  is  the  cynic.  Let  me  make  it 
clear  why  I  was  laughing:  I  believe  it  is  ridiculous 


86    THE  HOUSE  OF  THE  FIGHTING-COCKS 

to  go  in  search  of  truth.  You  may  go  searching,  but, 
as  that  old  writer  Gongora  would  say,  it  is  longer 
than  a  winter's  night  for  a  man  who  is  ill-wed." 

"Your  illustration,"  said  the  Noahcite,  "is  to  me, 
I  must  confess,  not  more  attractive  than  your  the- 
ory." 

"Oh,  I  can  give  you  another,"  said  Don  Eugenio. 
"We  are  all  of  us,  it  seems  to  me,  in  a  great  forest, 
and  it  is  our  business  to  hew  a  path  on  which  others 
may  walk  pleasantly  or,  if  that  is  beyond  us,  to  walk 
ourselves  along  some  path  which  is  already  made, 
and  in  either  case  to  let  our  demeanor  be  a  modest 
one.  My  sympathy  is  not  with  those  wayfarers  who 
continually  dart  away  to  this  side,  to  that  side,  and 
shout  that  they  have  found  the  truth  because  of  a 
strange  brilliance  on  the  bark  of  some  tree  or  the 
pretty  colors  of  a  leaf  which  hitherto  they  never 
noticed  or  some  unusual  radiance  of  the  sun  which 
dazzles  them.  One  and  all  of  them  persist  in  declaring 
that  they  have  found  the  truth,  and  what  they  have 
done  is  to  lengthen  their  path  and  sometimes  to  lose 
the  path  altogether  and,  what  is  worse,  to  induce  other 
people  to  follow  them."  My  master  was  leaning  for- 
ward with  his  arms  on  the  table,  and  his  flushed  face 
was  quite  near  to  that  of  the  Noahcite. 

"Sir,"  said  our  host,  speaking  very  gravely,  "it 
affords  me  a  profound  delight  to  see  you  in  my  house. 
You  have  a  mind,  if  I  may  say  so,  worthy  to  go 
onward,  onward  in  this  grand  adventure  which  engages 
me.  Of  course  your  attitude  is  totally  wrong,  but 
that  we  can  change.  It  is  so  much  easier  to  change 
a  man's  attitude  than  his  stature.  Sir,"  he  said,  "I 
will  give  myself  the  pleasure  of  drinking  to  you."  And 
he  filled  their  two  glasses. 

Faustino  had  been  standing  patiently  behind  them 


THE  HOUSE  OF  THE  FIGHTING-COCKS    87 

with  a  dish  of  hot  meat;  it  was  turkey,  given  us  to 
celebrate  this  day. 

While  my  master  helped  himself  the  Noahcite  ad- 
dressed me.  He  was  in  a  very  good  humor,  and  he 
asked  me  whether  I  had  not  wanted  to  learn  something 
about  Faustino's  youth.  The  only  thing,  he  said, 
which  he  could  think  of — it  was  traditional  in  his 
family — was  an  occasion  when  Faustino  had  been  left 
alone  in  the  room  with  half  a  dozen  oranges,  and 
when  his  mother  came  back  he  had  eaten  them  all. 
She  was  going  to  punish  him,  but  he  said  that  it  was 
not  his  fault;  he  was  only  a  little  boy  and  she  ought 
not  to  have  left  him  alone  with  all  that  fruit. 

Faustino  was  looking  proud  of  himself. 

And  the  Noahcite  was  smiling.  "I  am  sorry,"  he 
said,  "that  I  can't  tell  you  anything  else  about  the 
youth  of  my  good  friend  Faustino;  but  why  do  you 
want  to  know?  Are  you  going  to  write  a  book  about 
him?" 

By  this  time  Faustino  had  placed  a  portion  of  turkey 
in  front  of  me,  and  from  behind  the  smoke  of  it  I 
ventured  to  say,  but  very  shyly,  to  the  Noahcite  that 
I  would  so  like  to  know  what  Faustino  had  been. 
"My  father,"  I  explained,  "is  a  breeder  of  fighting- 
cocks,  and  Faustino  won't  tell  me  what  he  was." 

Don  Arcadio  made  a  sign  to  him  that  he  was  to 
take  out  the  dish  to  Maria,  and,  after  he  was  gone, 
said  to  me  in  the  kindest  way  that  for  the  future  I 
should  have  my  meals  with  Maria  and  Faustino.  "I 
apprehend,", said  he,  "that  the  conversation  of  myself 
and  Don  Eugenio,  whatever  it  may  fail  to  achieve, 
would  assuredly  do  harm  to  your  digestion.  Now, 
about  Faustino — ^he  used  to  occupy  himself  in  selling 
lottery-tickets  here  in  Jalapa,  and  I  bought  them  from 
him  and  so  did  my  father  and  my  brother,  who  have 


88    THE  HOUSE  OF  THE  FIGHTING-COCKS 

both  been  dead  for  many  years.  Faustino  used  to 
oblige  me,  I  can  tell  you,  to  buy  his  tickets,  and  we 
sometimes  amuse  ourselves  nowadays  by  acting  those 
old  episodes  over  again.  You  see,"  said  the  Noahcite, 
as  he  turned  with  an  apologetic  smile  to  Don  Eugenio, 
"I  have  to  take  a  little  relaxation  from  my  work." 

"You  are  perfectly  right,"  said  Don  Eugenio,  "and 
is  that  why  you  have  Faustino  for  your  servant?" 

"It  was  like  this,"  said  Don  Arcadio.  "The  man 
is  of  such  honest  stuff  that  he  would  not  allow  his 
own  people,  the  poor  Indians,  to  buy  tickets.  He 
knew  that  every  one  is  far  more  likely  to  lose  than 
to  win,  and  therefore  he  would  only  sell  to  the  people 
who,  in  his  opinion,  had  sufficient  money.  There  was 
very  seldom  an  attractive  entertainment  at  Jalapa — 
apart  from  the  secular  festivities  of  carnival  and  the 
more  religious  orgies,  perhaps  a  company  of  players 
would  give  us  a  half-hearted  performance  on  their 
way  to  the  capital — yet  for  me  the  best  entertainment 
was  to  watch  Faustino,  usually  in  the  plaza.  But 
whenever  he  caught  sight  of  me  he  tried  to  make  me 
buy  a  ticket.  His  methods  were  altogether  original, 
so  that  my  defense  was  nearly  always  pierced,  and — 
well,  at  last  I  thought  it  would  cost  me  less  if  I  took 
him  from  the  plaza  and  gave  him  a  place  in  my  house- 
hold, and  now  he  is  the  only  one.  As  I  said,  we  still 
from  time  to  time  play  our  old  skirmishes  over  again. 
Ah,  yes,"  he  sighed,  "I  wish  I  had  more  leisure,  I  wish 
I  had  not  wasted  all  those  years  when  I  was  studying 
a  thousand  things,  instead  of  dedicating  every  moment 
to  this  most  august  of  sciences." 

"As  soon  as  I  saw  Faustino,"  said  my  master,  "I 
had  a  feeling  for  him.    And  what  a  cook!" 

Don  Arcadio  had  become  entirely  serious  again. 
"With  regard  now  to  the  composition  of  the  earth," 


THE  HOUSE  OF  THE  FIGHTING-COCKS    89 

said  he,  "you  will  be  much  astonished  when  I  tell 
you." 

"Excuse  me,"  said  my  master,  "but  if  you  know 
all  about  it  why  do  you  continue  toiling  at  this  science 
of  yours  and  also  inviting  me  to  do  so?  Even  if 
your  knowledge  is  not  absolutely  perfect,  I  can  assure 
you,  my  dear  sir,  on  the  authority  of  Fontanes  that 
the  desire  for  perfection  is  the  worst  disease  that  ever 
afflicted  the  human  mind." 

The  Noahcite  repressed  his  impatience  and  in  a  dig- 
nified tone  informed  my  master  that  alas!  he  knew  as 
yet  very  little,  but  even  that  little  would  astonish  a 
thoughtful  man.  "I  must  ask  you  to  forgive  me," 
said  he,  "if  in  this  matter  of  the  composition  of  our 
earth  I  do  not  start  at  the  beginning.  But  I  promise 
you  faithfully  that  I  will  begin  at  the  most  remote 
period  with  which  I  am  acquainted." 

"On  the  other  hand,"  interrupted  Don  Eugenio, 
"would  it  not  be  saving  a  considerable  amount  of 
trouble,  to  both  of  us,  if  you  simply  say  that  the 
world  was  made  by  God?  There  it  is,  at  any  rate. 
And  then  you  can  discuss  the  water  and  the  air  and 
all  that." 

Don  Arcadio  drew  himself  up  to  his  full  height 
and,  in  an  awe-inspiring  voice,  he  said:  "This  God  of 
yours  who  is  reputed  to  have  made  the  world,  I  pull 
him  down  from  his  seat.  I  am  sorry,"  he  added,  "but 
I  am  compelled  to  do  so." 

At  this  moment  Faustino  returned,  bearing  a  large 
tray  on  which  v/as  one  of  those  fish  they  send  up  from 
Veracruz  and  a  highly-seasoned  mess  of  chicken  and 
a  plate  of  our  beautiful  fruit  and  bottles  of  Hungarian 
wine,  which  Don  Arcadio  must  have  had  from  an 
official  of  the  Emperor.  I  noticed  that  my  master  took 
a  portion  of  the  steaming  fish  and  of  the  chicken  with 


90    THE  HOUSE  OF  THE  FIGHTING-COCKS 

scarcely  a  look  at  them,  and  when  Faustino  had  poured 
him  out  some  of  the  wine  and  he  had  drunk  it  his 
lips  were  compressed  for  a  little,  but  he  was  evidently 
not  thinking  of  the  silvery  wine. 

Don  Arcadio  would  have  nothing  else  to  eat  or 
drink.  "By  asserting  that  your  God  is  responsible 
for  the  world,  which  is  a  grievous  responsibility,"  said 
he,  "you  do  not  absolve  yourself  from  the  urgent  need 
of  knowing  how  He  made  it.  And  this  is  what  I 
propose  to  investigate.  But  if  in  this  act  of  making 
there  should  be  some  features  that  repel  us,  some 
terrible  .  .  ." 

"Oh,  you  need  not  imagine  that  I  shall  rise  up  in 
arms,"  said  Don  Eugenio.  "I  am  a  Christian,  at  least 
I  was  educated  in  a  seminary,  but  it  is  not  in  my 
nature  to  be  fanatical,  and  I  can  only  hope,  in  all 
humility,  that  God  will  pardon  me.  Amen.  What 
you  said  about  pulling  Him  down  from  His  seat  has 
reminded  me  of  that  abominable  fellow  who  consid- 
ered himself  to  be  of  extreme  grandeur  on  account  of 
his  extreme  wealth.  When  he  died  he  presented  him- 
self at  the  gate  of  heaven,  but,  before  he  could  knock, 
Saint  Peter  opened  it  and  besought  him  to  enter.  'We 
have  all  heard  about  you,'  said  the  Saint.  'Come  in, 
come  in  at  once.'  Near  the  gate  of  the  second  heaven 
there  stood  an  archangel  with  his  luxuriant  wings  softly 
opening  and  shutting  for  delight.  'How  good  of  you 
to  come,'  said  he.  'We  have  been  looking  forward 
to  this  for  many  years.'  And  at  the  gates  of  the  third 
and  the  fourth  and  the  fifth  and  the  sixth  heavens 
it  was  just  the  same,  and  at  the  portal  of  the  seventh 
heaven  who  but  the  Almighty  should  come  hurrying 
up,  and  'Pray,  my  dear  friend,  do  step  in,'  He  begged. 
'I — I  fear  I've  been  sitting  on  your  seat.'  " 

The  Noahcite  laughed. 


THE  HOUSE  OF  THE  FIGHTING-COCKS    91 

"And  yet,"  said  Don  Eugenio  reproachfully,  "you 
will  not  believe  that  there  is  a  God." 

When  the  Noahcite  had  finished  laughing,  which  he 
did  with  a  series  of  jerks,  he  wiped  a  tear  from  his  eye 
and  again  addressed  my  master,  this  time  with  an  air 
of  great  reasonableness.  "I  do  not  regret,"  quoth  he, 
"that  before  we  set  seriously  to  work  we  should  permit 
ourselves  to  dally  with  this  rather  unimportant  ques- 
tion as  to  whether  God  does  or  does  not  exist.  It  is 
more  than  unimportant,  it  is  vexatious,  seeing  that 
each  race  of  men  have  made  themselves  a  God  more 
or  less  in  their  own  image — those  who  are  worshiped 
by  some  of  the  savage  tribes  are  certainly  less  power- 
ful than  is  a  civilized  man.  So  there  are  Gods  of 
all  conditions — your  God  is  not  as  my  God — and  how 
then  are  we  to  discuss  as  to  whether  God  exists?  My 
dear  colleague,"  said  he,  leaning  forward  and  laying 
his  hand  upon  that  of  Don  Eugenio,  "will  you  not 
allow  us  to  pass  on?" 

My  master  was  very  thoughtful,  and  then,  with  the 
most  gentle  smile  breaking  out  upon  his  countenance, 
he  said  that  in  his  faith  there  was  only  one  God  and 
that,  although  he  had  been  taught  that  it  is  necessary 
to  drag  down  the  gods  of  savages,  yet  are  these  not  the 
same  as  our  God,  inasmuch  as  they  are  the  most  lofty 
of  aspirations?  "And  if  this  idea  of  God  be  nothing 
but  a  dream,"  said  my  master,  "let  us  cling  to  it  since 
it  is  beautiful." 

As  for  me,  when  my  dear  master  spoke  these  words, 
which  were  outside  my  understanding,  I  felt  as  if  I 
would  have  kissed  his  feet. 

"It  may  well  be,"  said  the  Noahcite,  "that  you  have 
not  had  occasion  to  live  with  any  savage  race.  We 
in  this  country  possess,  far  away  to  the  south,  a  people 
who  are  a  thousand  times  more  degraded  than — than 


92    THE  HOUSE  OF  THE  FIGHTING-COCKS 

Faustino,   for  instance.     Is  that  not  so,   Faiistino?" 
Faustino  was  behind  the  Noahcite,  looking  with  ad- 
miration at  the  top  of  his  head.     And  he  answered, 
"Oh,  assuredly,"  and  his  expression  did  not  change. 

"There  are  men  who  are  called  wise,"  said  the  Noah- 
cite, "and  who,  because  they  have  had  to  reproach 
these  people  for  not  tilling  the  soil  and  for  not  keep- 
ing cattle,  and  for  being  unacquainted  with  metals 
and  for  not  even  knowing  how  to  make  a  fire  and 
for  not  troubling  to  clothe  themselves,  except  with  a 
paste  of  clay  which,  when  it  dries,  is  turned  into  a 
sort  of  hard  shell,  and  for  having  very  elementary  tools 
of  stone  or  wood,  these  wise  men  see  fit  also  to  re- 
proach them  for  having  elementary  gods.  I  must  say, 
Don  Eugenio,  that  I  prefer  your  attitude.  .  .  .  But 
at  the  same  time  I  must  say  that  all  our  Gods  are 
different,  and  that  yours  of  the  seminary  is  not  like 
mine,  because  he  created  the  world.  As  you  are  not  a 
fanatic  you  will  not  be  angry  with  me,  I  am  sure, 
if  I  say  that  I  cannot  help  thinking  that  my  God  is 
higher  than  yours  and  more  perfect,  because  he  did 
not  create  anything.  You  will  reject,  even  as  I  do, 
that  proverb  of  an  heroic  but  unphilosophic  people 
which  says:  'God  is  not  sinless;  he  created  the  world.' 
But  I  reject  it  because  the  God  they  mean  is  not  my 
God,  for  whom  there  is  no  time  nor  space,  but  Jehovah 
who  rejoiced  in  the  smell  of  slaughtered  animals.  And, 
by  the  way,  the  name  of  Jehovah  or  Jahwe,  which 
means  'He  who  causes  to  be,'  was  applied  to  the 
national  deity  before  the  arrival  of  Moses — the  name 
of  his  mother  is  compounded  with  it — so  that  those 
early  Jews  knew  better  than  to  say  that  it  was  God 
who  created  the  world,  for  you  cannot  create  except 
in  space  and  time.  Moses  also  knew  very  well  that 
the  ten  commandments  were  not  inspired  by  God,  so 


THE  HOUSE  OF  THE  FIGHTING-COCKS    93 

that  he  ascribed  them  to  Jehovah;  and  perhaps  it  is 
due  to  this  lesser  authority  being  behind  them  that 
they  have  not  been  more  rigidly  kept. 

''You  perceive  that  even  if  this  Jehovah  is  not  God 
he  is  nevertheless  regarded  to  be  in  the  enjoyment  of 
considerable  powers,  and  notably  those  powers  of  crea- 
tion whose  effect  it  was  needful  for  me  to  observe. 
I  was  accustomed  to  picture  him  to  myself  as  with  a 
gigantic  blow  detaching  from  the  parent  nebula  a 
brilliant  globe  of  flame,  which  he  sent  whirling,  whirl- 
ing through  centuries.  And  I  liked  to  think  of  him 
being  glad  as  he  brooded  over  it  and  saw  that  in  the 
cold  fields  of  space  the  gases  were  condensing  and 
that  it  was  gradually  becoming  partly  liquid  and  partly 
gas,  and  then,  after  millions  of  years,  observing  how 
the  first  crust  of  solid  matter  began  to  form  on  the 
liquid  surface.  All  this  and  very  much  more  I  used 
to  put  down  to  the  prowess  of  Jehovah.  Is  it  then 
surprising  that  I  revered  him?  And  you  will  under- 
stand my  grief  when  I  discovered  that  he  was  a  myth. 
To-day  I  have  alluded  to  him  in  the  old  fashion,  as 
I  used  to  do,  but  now  he  has  become  for  me  no  more 
than  a  personage  of  folk-lore.  And  I  am  convinced 
that  if  Moses  had  had  at  his  disposal  such  collections 
of  traditional  beliefs  and  popular  superstitions  and 
tales  and  legends  as  we  have,  and  if  he  had  not  been 
dealing  with  a  semi-barbarous  people  he  would  have 
announced  that  Jehovah  did  not  live  on  the  top  of 
Mount  Sinai,  but  in  folk-lore.  Moses  was  sagacious 
enough  to  see  that  one  could  not  appeal  to  that  people 
through  their  knowledge  of  the  nature  of  things,  be- 
cause they  did  not  possess  such  knowledge.  If  that 
eminent  man  were  living  now  I  am  sure  he  would 
not  claim  that  in  his  case  there  had  been  any  more 
inspiration  than  in  the  cases  of  other  good  law-makers. 


94    THE  HOUSE  OF  THE  FIGHTING-COCKS 

He  was  prudent  but  uninspired,  for  the  ten  command- 
ments contain  only  such  fundamental  rules  of  conduct 
as  would  suggest  themselves  to  man  at  a  very  early 
stage,  and  the  so-called  Mosaic  account  of  creation 
does  not,  despite  the  theologians,  display  any  super- 
human wisdom  in  the  order  in  which  the  things  are 
said  to  have  been  produced;  the  writer  is  merely  not 
stupid  enough  to  create  the  herbivorous  animal  be- 
fore the  plants  on  which  it  feeds,  or  the  fishes  before 
the  sea  in  which  they  swim.  Moses  was  what  you 
would  call  a  sane  person,  one  who  is  glad  to  have  the 
sensation  that  the  ground  is  firm  under  his  feet. 

"Now,  before  I  bid  farewell  to  Jehovah,  let  me  say 
that,  of  course,  there  is  no  merit  in  the  fact  that  I  am 
living  at  this  hour  when  the  generations  of  laborious 
and  brilliant  men  have  placed  at  my  disposal  their 
researches  into  folk-lore.  But  I  would  give  a  great 
deal  if  for  a  moment  I  could  come  face  to  face  with 
Moses.  I  believe  that  he  would  be  interested,  that 
the  eyes  in  his  majestic  head  would  twinkle  and  that 
he  would  listen  gravely  while  I  told  him  how,  to  my 
sorrow,  Jehovah  had  become  to  me  no  more  than  a 
thick  cloud.  Were  you  not  loth  yourself,  Don  Eu- 
genio,  to  lose  Little  Red  Riding-Hood  when  they  told 
you  that  she  is  the  dawn,  while  the  wolf  which  eats 
her,  like  the  black  cow  which  swallows  Tom  Thumb, 
is  a  personification  of  the  night?  And  as  for  Je- 
hovah .  .  ." 

"Let  me  make  a  confession,"  said  my  master.  "It 
is  this:  they  never  told  me  what  you  have  just  laid 
down.  And  I  should  be  grateful  if  you  will  allow 
me  to  retire  and  meditate."    He  rose  from  the  table. 

"In  one  word,"  said  Don  Arcadio,  "the  characters 
in  folk-lore  are  the  same  as  the  characters  in  Aryan 
mythology." 


THE  HOUSE  OF  THE  FIGHTING-COCKS    95 

My  master  was  striding  to  the  door  and  I  got  up 
to  follow  him.  But  just  as  I  reached  him  he  turned 
round  and  said  to  our  host  that  he  appreciated  very 
much  all  that  he  had  so  kindly  told  him,  and  he  un- 
derstood that  Jehovah  was  a  thick  cloud,  something 
as  to  which  he  need  no  longer  trouble. 

Then  the  Noahcite  rose  also  in  his  place  and  looked 
at  Don  Eugenio  with  some  concern.  One  hand  he 
rested  on  the  back  of  his  chair  and  the  other  hand  he 
lifted  up  in  warning. 

"But  even  if  we  discard  Jehovah  there  is  no  doubt," 
said  he,  "but  that  our  earth  was  made.  How  was 
it  made?  Every  people  has  its  own  cosmogony,  that 
is  to  say,  its  own  method  of  conceiving  the  origin  and 
the  formation  of  the  world.  But  the  traditions  on 
this  subject  which  have  been  handed  down  to  us  are, 
beyond  all  argument,  mere  myths.  They  relate  an 
occurrence  at  which  no  human  being  was  present,  and 
with  regard  to  which  there  is  no  documentary  evi- 
dence whatever.  And  when  did  human  beings  first 
begin  to  make  these  myths?  Tell  me,  do  you  think 
that  the  primeval  savage  ever  pondered  as  to  how  the 
world  originated?  He  was  a  child  who  holds  that 
everything  has  always  been  as  he  now  sees  it.  And 
the  cosmogonies,  which  in  effect  are  nature  speaking 
through  human  nature,  did  not  start  for  a  very  long 
time." 

"If  you  are  going  to  describe  to  me  all  the  cosmog- 
onies," said  my  master,  "then  .  .  ."  He  grasped  the 
handle  of  the  door  and  turned  it  resolutely,  but  the 
door  would  not  open. 

Don  Arcadio  came  a  step  or  two  nearer.  "No," 
he  said,  "I  do  not  intend  to  do  any  such  thing.  But 
as  to  nature  speaking  through  the  earliest  human  na- 
ture, I  suppose  the  reproductive  processes  were  those 


96    THE  HOUSE  OF  THE  FIGHTING-COCKS 

which  had  the  first  attraction  for  our  distant,  long- 
forgotten  ancestors.  I  should  suppose  that  their  ac- 
count of  the  world's  origin  would  appear  to  us  a  gross 
and  flamboyant  indecency,  not  amusing,  but  pitiable." 

My  master  threw  all  his  weight  against  the  door. 
A  crash,  a  shriek  .  .  .  and  we  saw  that  on  the  other 
side  of  it  was  Maria.  She  must  have  been  told  by 
Faustino  that  we  should  all  of  us  remain  for  a  long 
time  in  the  dining-room,  because  she  had  put  herself 
as  close  as  she  possibly  could  to  the  door;  and  when 
Don  Eugenio  flung  it  open  she  and  the  chair  capsized 
together;  so  she  lay  there  with  her  garments  every- 
where but  where  they  ought  to  be.  Quickly  she 
clutched  her  skirt,  cast  it  back  again  to  its  proper 
position,  and,  while  she  still  lay  on  the  floor,  she  ex- 
claimed, "May  I  be  blessed!  Did  you  ever  see  the 
like  before?" 

"No,  in  good  faith,"  said  my  master,  "except  once 
at  Madrid." 

Then  as  we  three  climbed  up  the  stairs  together, 
Don  Eugenio  pinched  her  lovely  cheek  a  little  and 
informed  her  gaily  that  they  both  had  suffered,  she 
in  one  way,  he  in  another,  but  that  after  their  siesta 
they  would  be  quite  well  again.  And  he  said  that 
I,  on  this  occasion,  could  lay  me  down  in  the  same 
room,  as  he  wished  to  talk  to  me. 

"My  legs  do  not  hurt  very  much,"  said  Maria,  but 
she  stopped  to  rub  them. 

Don  Eugenio  looked  anxiously  down  towards  the 
dining-room  door,  afraid  less  the  Noahcite  should  come 
up  after  us.  And  then  he  urged  Maria  to  have  courage 
and  proceed.  He  put  his  arm  round  her  waist.  And 
as  they  moved  on  he  told  her,  in  the  most  fatherly 
way,  that  he  would  help  her. 

She  began  to  laugh.    "You  talk,"  she  said,  "as  if 


THE  HOUSE  OF  THE  FIGHTING-COCKS    97 

you  were  a  doctor.  But  I  have  always  been  a  poor 
Indian  girl,  and,  by  the  Grace  of  God,  we  do  not 
want  doctors." 

"My  child,"  said  he,  "if  I  were  still  at  Zaragoza, 
serving  in  the  bishop's  admirable  library  and  making 
my  researches  for  the  'life'  of  Saint  Eugracia,  it  is 
probable  that  I  could,  if  necessary,  have  assisted  you 
more  than  a  mere  surgeon.  Know  that  the  oil  of 
some  of  Saint  Eugracia's  lamps  can  heal  a  tumor  in 
the  neck,  while  that  which  burns  in  front  of  the  Virgen 
del  Pilar  is  capable  of  restoring  a  lost  leg.  And  if  the 
saint  had  declined  to  work  one  of  these  miracles  for 
me,  her  faithful  biographer,  then  for  whom  would  she 
have  performed  them?" 

Maria  pressed  herself  more  closely  against  him. 
"Oh,  I  am  glad,"  quoth  she,  "that  you  are  not  at 
Zaragoza." 

Don  Eugenio  said  that  he  would  postpone  the  con- 
versation with  me.  Let  me  go  into  the  plaza,  said 
he,  and  perhaps  find  a  boy  to  play  with.  And  any- 
how, I  had  done  sufficient  work  for  the  first  morning. 

As  they  went  away  from  me  I  heard  Maria  ask 
some  question  about  the  Bishop  of  Zaragoza,  and 
from  her  voice  I  think  she  was  envious  of  the  regard 
which  my  master  still  seemed  to  have  for  him. 

And  I  saw  that  my  master  was  looking  at  her  and 
was  making  his  ruddy  face  as  stern  as  he  could.  "And 
there  are  people,"  said  he,  "who  revere  the  venerable 
Palafox,  Archbishop  of  Zaragoza,  who  advised  the 
faithful  never  to  look  a  woman  in  the  face  and  never 
to  speak  to  one  of  them  without  pressing  into  his 
bosom  a  cross  garnished  with  iron  points,  so  that 
temptation  be  opposed  by  pain." 

I  did  not  hear  him  say  anything  else. 


CHAPTER  VIII 

Early  on  the  next  day  Don  Eugenio  and  I  were  in 
our  room  above  the  stable.  It  had  meanwhile  been 
provided  with  some  furniture,  but  Don  Eugenio  was 
not  much  pleased  to  find  that  Roger  Bacon's  treatise 
was  the  only  written  thing  of  any  sort  which  it 
contained.  He  said  that  probably  the  Noahcite,  in 
whose  collection  were  such  fascinating  books,  desired 
him  to  give  all  his  energies  to  this  one  volume,  one, 
moreover,  which  related  to  a  subject  he  knew  naught 
about  and  wanted  to  still  less.  He  laughed  as  he 
declared  that  in  his  numerous  vicissitudes  he  never 
once  had  been  associated  with  a  personage  like  Don 
Arcadio.  But  he  and  I  must  not  forget,  said  he,  that 
if  this  most  extraordinary  man  had  not  befriended  us 
we  should  be  in  a  sorry  plight,  for  he  had  come  to  the 
conclusion — having  talked  with  several  of  the  natives 
overnight — that  beautiful  Jalapa  was  no  refuge  for 
the  learned  and,  besides,  the  situation  in  the  neigh- 
borhood, what  with  the  miscellaneous  troops  from 
Europe  and  the  Mexicans  who  said  they  would  be  true 
to  Maximilian  and  those  others  who  were  openly  for 
Juarez  and  the  many  who  were  for  themselves,  the 
situation  was  unstable;  and  if,  during  a  disturbance, 
our  protector  should  be  slaughtered,  we  two,  like  the 
wicked  people  of  a  tale,  would  perish  miserably.  But 
for  the  time  being,  said  my  master,  we  stood  in  no 
imminent  peril,  for  which  we  ought  to  thank  the 
soldiers  of  all  parties,  and  we  were  not  obliged  to  beg 
from  nor  to  steal  from  the  uncultured  populace,  for 


THE  HOUSE  OF  THE  FIGHTING-COCKS     99 

which  we  must  be  grateful  to  the  Noahcite,  even  if  he 
did  insist  on  pouring  geology  into  us. 

"However,  up  to  the  present,"  said  Don  Eugenio, 
"he  has  dealt  not  so  much  with  geology  as  with 
God  the  Creator,  whose  existence,  by  the  way,  he 
denies.  But  you  observe,  Juanito,  that  he  could 
hardly  stop  talking  about  Him,  and  this  is  a  reasonable 
proof  that  God  exists.  I  have  been  told  by  men  who 
occupy  themselves  with  such  affairs  that,  so  far  as  we 
are  concerned,  there  is  nothing  but  our  mind,  that 
if  our  mind  had  not  named  and  weighed  the  star 
Aldebaran,  then  Aldebaran  would  not  exist.  Of 
course,  I  do  not  argue  that  Jehovah  must  be  weighed; 
we  who  meditate  about  Him  are  conscious  of  other 
qualities  and  glorious  attributes.  And  is  it  not  our 
triumph  that  the  wretched  fellow  who  denies  Him 
cannot  keep  Him  from  his  mind,  which  clearly  shows 
that  even  for  this  Noahcite  our  God  exists?  .  .  . 
However,  I  did  not  intend  that  we  should  talk  about 
this  side  of  Don  Arcadio." 

"Oh,  yes,"  I  said  enthusiastically,  "our  God  exists. 
He  wrote  those  books  in  our  church,  because  there  is 
so  much  in  them  about  Himself." 

And  Don  Eugenio  smiled. 

It  was  impossible  to  be  afraid  of  my  dear  master, 
and  I  asked  him  to  his  face  why  he  had  not  said  all 
these  things  to  Don  Arcadio  in  the  dining-room,  when 
Don  Arcadio  said,  I  was  sure  he  said  it,  that  there  is 
no  God. 

"You  are  a  good  boy  and  a  faithful  one,"  said  my 
master,  looking  rather  sad.  "If  in  my  career  I  could 
have  always  answered  quickly,  then  I  think,"  said  he, 
"that  I  should  not  have  been  so  worsted  in  the  strug- 
gle ..  .  That  is  it," — now  he  was  half  talking  to  him- 
self and  with  a  mournful  smile — "the  cannon  has  to 


loo    THE  HOUSE  OF  THE  FIGHTING-COCKS 

answer  to  the  cannon  opposite  ...  I  bring  up  mine 
when  all  the  enemy  has  ridden  from  the  field." 

I  for  my  part  wanted  to  put  an  end  to  his  sadness. 
And,  as  I  did  not  know  what  to  say,  I  said  suddenly, 
"Oh,  yes,  our  God  exists,  Don  Eugenio." 

He  gazed  at  me.  "My  son,"  he  said  very  seriously, 
"I  can  prove  it  in  a  multitude  of  ways,  for  instance, 
through  the  xylocopa,  a  genus  of  solitary  bees,  who  die 
immediately  after  laying  their  eggs;  at  the  moment 
when  these  are  hatched  there  does  not  survive  a  single 
individual  of  the  preceding  generation,  so  that  the 
young  do  not  learn  by  example  how  to  conduct  them- 
selves. Besides,  they  are  in  so  backward  a  condition 
that  examples  would  be  of  no  use  to  them.  They  have 
as  yet  neither  eyes  nor  feet;  they  are  worm-shaped 
creatures  whose  existence  for  a  whole  year  in  a  dark 
lodging  is  the  most  sedentary  you  can  imagine. 
Nevertheless,  as  soon  as  they  emerge,  one  sees  them 
hastening  actively  to  work,  not  for  the  satisfaction  of 
their  personal  needs,  but  in  order  to  make  all  those 
preparations  which  are  wanted  for  the  welfare  of  the 
generation  which  they  will,  in  their  turn,  produce,  and 
which  they  will  never  see  ...  If  their  teacher  is  not 
God  then  we  will  call  him  God  .  .  .  And  now,"  said 
Don  Eugenio,  "let  us  think  about  your  own  situation. 
It  may  be  that  you  yourself  would  not  examine  it  with 
care,  since  you  are  very  young;  and  also  you  may  be 
inclined  to  look  upon  me  as  a  sort  of  god,  whose 
wisdom  and  benevolence  will  help  you  always. 
Juanito,  what  we  must  consider  is  if  the  advantages 
you  may  derive  from  being  here  are  greater  than  the 
perils.  And  I  need  not  say  that  if  you  have  to  leave 
me  I  shall  heartily  regret  it." 

As  for  me,  I  think  I  merely  stared  at  him. 

"Dear  child,"  said  he,  "you  will  be  brave."     He 


THE  HOUSE  OF  THE  FIGHTING-COCKS     loi 

looked  at  me  with  such  a  brave  light  in  his  eyes  that  I 
could  not  help  feehng  as  if  I  were  his  one  comrade  in 
some  gallant  exploit.  "It  is  necessary  that  you  should 
go  back  at  dawn  to-morrow/'  so  he  said,  "to  Colorado. 
Senor  Bias  will  take  you  in  his  coach.  I  have  arranged 
it.  Also,  if  your  parents  are  willing  that  you  should 
return,  then  Bias  will  bring  you." 

"But— but "  I  objected. 

"But  it  has  to  be,  my  friend.  Your  father  and 
your  mother  must  settle  it  between  them  if  you  are  to 
stay  with  me  and  learn  the  Latin  language  and  some 
of  the  miscellaneous  information  I  have  gathered  in 
the  bishop's  library  and  in  the  world.  But  your  good 
parents  will  have  to  recognize  that  we  are  living  in 
Jalapa  at  considerable  risk.  All  the  information 
I  can  get  goes  far  to  show  that  Senor  Bias  was  right  in 
warning  me.  The  troops  of  Juarez  may  at  any  time 
rush  down  upon  us  ...  if  there  is  fighting  we  may  be 
compelled,  you  and  I,  to  join  either  one  side  or  the 
other,  and  they  would  show  just  as  much  regard  for 
our  private  preferences  as  they  do  for  those  of  the 
various  Virgins  whom  they  snatch  up  from  the  altars 
and  carry  bombastically  at  the  head  of  one  of  their 
miserable  armies.  On  the  other  hand,  if  there  is  no 
fighting,  our  position  will  be  more  perilous,  because  I 
imderstand  that  it  is  customary  for  them  to  have 
ceremonies  of  joy  and  brotherhood,  which  begin  badly 
with  enormous  recitations  by  all  the  poets  that  can  be 
found,  and  conclude  extremely  badly  with  a  drunken 
salute  of  guns  into  any  house  they  see,  and  this  is  one 
of  the  largest  in  the  town  .  .  .  Perhaps  you  think 
that  I  exaggerate — I  hope  I  do — but  then,  in  your 
little  village,  you  have  never  seen  such  episodes  as  I 
am  told  occur  from  time  to  time  in  the  towns  of  this 
country." 


I02    THE  HOUSE  OF  THE  FIGHTING-COCKS 

I  had  a  sudden  idea.  "Senor,"  said  I,  "let  us  go  to 
Colorado,  you  and  I  and  Maria." 

But  he  shook  his  head.  "Maria  will  do  what  she 
likes,  but  I  must  remain,"  he  said.  "It  is  these  books. 
Where  shall  I  find  again  on  this  side  of  the  sea  those 
august  volumes  which  I  have  already  noticed?  It 
is  probable  that  he  possesses  books  I  should  not  find 
in  any  bishop's  library  of  Spain,  since  he  declares  that 
formerly  he  was,  hke  Albertus  Magnus  and  Saint 
Thomas  Aquinas,  a  candidate  for  universal  knowledge. 
There  will  be  books  in  velvet  bindings,  books  in 
canvas,  satin,  linen,  buckram.  There  may  be  a  book 
or  two  whereof  the  famous  libraries^  the  Barberina, 
the  Bodleian,  the  Mazarine,  the  Riccardiana,  and  our 
beloved  little  library  of  the  Escorial,  are  ignorant. 
We  talked  but  yesterday  about  Mount  Sinai — at  the 
bottom  of  it  in  the  Convent  of  Saint  Catherine  it  was 
that  Tischendorf,  some  twenty  years  ago,  prevented 
them  from  burning  a  large  basket  full  of  parchment 
leaves — two  baskets  had  already  gone! — he  found 
that  they  were  parts  of  the  Old  Testament  in  Greek 
in  an  extremely  old  handwriting.  And  who  knows 
whether  there  is  not  some  marvel  which  is  lying  in 
oblivion  here,  since  Don  Arcadio  neglects  whatever 
is  not  on  geology?  When  he  is  dead  I  have  the 
deepest  apprehensions  for  his  books  in  such  a  country. 
To  abandon  them  at  present  would  be  the  most 
infamous  and  cowardly  proceeding. 

"This  afternoon,  when  I  have  dined  with  Don 
Arcadio,  I  shall  manage,  in  conversation  with  him, 
to  walk  by  his  side  into  that  splendid  room  of  books, 
and  gradually,  as  he  becomes  absorbed  with  his  map, 
or  whatever  else  it  may  be,  I  shall  escape  his  notice. 
I  shall  glide  away  into  a  corner!  I  shall  revel  in  the 
great  collection!   .  .  .  And  thus,  day  by  day  I  shall 


THE  HOUSE  OF  THE  FIGHTING-COCKS     103 

hope  to  spend  my  time  always  less  on  this  geology. 
We  shall  see.  But  there  are  some  words  in  that  book 
which,  as  you  inform  me,  was  written  by  God  Himself: 
'And  the  land  had  rest  forty  years';  and  I  assure  you 
that  I  hope  it  will  be  so  in  Don  Arcadio's  discourse. 

"Oh,"  said  he,  "I  can  see  what  you  are  going  to 
say!  What  is  the  good  of  being  killed  in  the  midst 
of  these  treasures  instead  of  living  safely  at  Colorado 
or  elsewhere?  Well,  if  I  am  killed  it  would  give  me 
pleasure  to  die  in  a  fashion  as  noble  as  possible. 
Should  I  not  be  like  one  of  the  soldiers  of  Sertorius, 
Philopoemen,  Brutus,  or  Csesar,  a  man  richly  and 
sumptuously  arrayed  and  therefore,  in  the  opinion  of 
these  sage  commanders,  more  disposed  to  offer  a  great 
resistance  than  would  a  soldier  who  is  poorly  fur- 
nished? Such  was  also  the  reason,  we  are  told,  why 
the  Asiatic  troops  were  wont  to  go  campaigning  with 
their  wives,  their  concubines,  their  jewels,  and  what- 
ever they  most  cherished.  I  remain  among  these 
books  .  .  .  Some  day,  Juanito,  you  may  feel  your 
body  thrill  in  the  delighted  contemplation  of  a  manu- 
script. Then  you  will  know  how  exquisite  and  how 
divine  a  joy  we  mortal  men  are  capable  of  bearing. 
You  will  grieve  for  those  misguided  ones  who  let  their 
bodies  thrill  with  passion.  What  will  be  the  end  of 
these?  There  was  a  wise  man,  Juanito,  who  pro- 
claimed that  there  is  no  more  potent  antidote  to 
vicious  ways  than  the  adoration  of  beauty.  And, 
I  ask  you,  what  beauty  can  there  be  on  earth,  what 
beauty  of  woman  to  compare  with  an  illuminated 
book  of  hours  on  vellum?  Look  for  a  moment  at  the 
specimen  we  have  at  Zaragoza,  with  the  text  in  golden 
letters  and  the  pages  garlanded  and  wreathed  with 
an  infinity  of  subjects,  animals  and  men,  comic  and 
capricious  and  satirical  and  in  most  handsome  colors. 


104    THE  HOUSE  OF  THE  FIGHTING-COCKS 

I  will  ask  a  decent  citizen  to  tell  me  if  his  happiness 
will  not  be  more  enduring  in  the  company  of  such  a 
glory  than  with  one  of  those  complaisant  girls  .  .  . 
And  now,"  said  he,  "we  can  do  some  work.  I  cannot 
undertake,  like  Roger  Bacon,  to  teach  a  willing  pupil 
Hebrew  or  Greek,  no,  not  even  Latin,  in  three  days, 
but  that  is  no  reason  why  we  should  not  work  this 
morning." 

So  he  put  the  manuscript  on  the  table  before  us, 
and  at  the  top  of  the  first  page  he  bade  me  read  the 
words:  "Pars  quinta  compendii  studii  theologie." 
He  drew  his  plump  finger  along  the  red  line  which  was 
underneath  these  words  and  I  looked  at  them  very 
carefully.  They  were  brown  and  all  the  rest  of  the 
page  was  brown,  except  some  large  letters  which  were 
red,  and  at  the  side  of  the  page  were  things  written 
here  and  there.  I  was  looking  all  over  the  page,  but 
my  master  told  me  to  read  the  first  words  again,  and 
then  he  told  me  what  they  signified  and  in  that  way 
I  had  soon  learned  five  words  of  Latin  ,  .  .  We 
worked  until  Faustino  came  and  told  my  master  that 
it  was  the  hour  for  him  and  Don  Arcadio  to  dine.  He 
said  that  Don  Arcadio  was  seated  in  the  dining-room. 

My  master  left  me  and — perhaps  in  order  to  escape 
as  much  as  possible  the  bitterness  of  parting — showed 
himself  no  more  until,  at  dawn  of  the  next  day,  I  was 
about  to  sally  from  the  house.  He  stayed  a  long  time 
in  the  dining-room  with  Don  Arcadio,  while  in  another 
room  I  let  Maria  talk  to  me.  And  she  did  not  cease 
with  her  cheerful  talking  as  Faustino  came  and  went. 
But  I  could  no  more  answer  to  her  mood  than  if  I 
had  been  built  of  stone. 

When  Don  Eugenio  and  the  Noahcite  had  gone  into 
that  large  room  of  the  map,  Maria  took  me  out  with 
her  into  the  streets.    We  wandered  up  and  down,  but 


THE  HOUSE  OF  THE  FIGHTING-COCKS     105 

1  was  very  wretched,  till  ...  At  twilight  we  returned 
to  Don  Arcadio's  house  and  vaguely  I  was  feeling  glad 
that  it  was  darker,  since  the  darkness  was  like  me, 
and  as  Maria  saw  that  I  was  not  so  miserable  she  was 
very  pleased,  although  she  did  not  say  so;  but  she  put 
her  hand  in  mine. 

We  found  that  Don  Eugenio  and  the  Noahcite  were 
still  in  that  same  room,  and  straightway  she  and  I — 
as  if  a  voice  was  ordering  us — went,  hand  in  hand, 
again  into  the  street. 

As  we  walked  down  the  hill  we  came  past  people 
who  had  brought  their  rocking-chairs  out  to  the  pave- 
ment. There  they  sat  and  swayed.  I  should  have 
liked  to  tell  them  who  I  was,  and  that  at  daybreak 
I  was  going  on  a  journey  by  myself.  But  they  con- 
tinued swaying  to  and  fro,  they  let  the  cigarette  smoke 
curl  out  of  their  mouths,  and  none  of  them  knew  that 
their  glowing  cigarettes  were  nothing  in  comparison 
with  the  great  fire  which  burned  within  me.  How  I 
pitied  them! 

At  the  bottom  of  the  street  there  was  a  little  bridge, 
and  after  that  we  came  into  the  country  road.  It  was 
so  dark  .  .  .  the  two  rows  of  high  trees  were  black 
.  .  .  and  you  could  scarcely  see  the  road.  We 
stopped  to  listen  .  .  .  there  was  nothing  but  the 
insects  whirring  over  the  dim  fields  .  .  .  Maria's  hand 
was  hurting  me  ...  I  would  have  kissed  her,  but  I 
did  not  dare  to  look  at  her  .  .  .  we  stumbled  hand  in 
hand  across  a  field  ...  it  was  not  dark  enough  .  .  . 
we  hurried  on  .  .  .  my  dear,  dear  Maria  sighed  .  .  . 
and  at  the  end  of  another  field  the  ground  fell 
sharply  ...  a  few  more  steps  and  then  we  stopped 
.  .  .  there  was  a  stream  or  a  small  river  at  the  foot  of 
the  slope  and  we  were  in  the  long,  thick  grass  .  .  . 

On  the  way  back  she  was  vowing  by  the  saints  in 


io6    THE  HOUSE  OF  THE  FIGHTING-COCKS 

Paradise  that  if  I  stayed  at  Colorado  she  would  surely 
come  there  too.  And  always,  always  she  would  follow 
me.  Her  arm  was  round  my  neck,  pressing  me  against 
her.    And  I  tried  to  keep  her  hair  away  from  my  face. 


CHAPTER  IX 

I  DO  not  know  how  long  into  the  night  my  master 
had  remained  with  Don  Arcadio,  but  they  were  waiting 
for  me  in  the  hall  when  I  came  down  the  staircase. 
There  they  sat  together  in  long  cloaks ;  and  indeed  that 
gloomy  hall  was  cold.  It  would  have  been  quite  dark 
but  for  the  two  fat  candles  they  were  holding. 

"We  have  waited  for  you,"  said  the  Noahcite,  in  his 
own  solemn  fashion. 

"Come  and  embrace  me,"  said  my  master. 

Even  as  I  did  so,  he  could  not  prevent  himself  from 
yawning.    And  the  Noahcite  was  yawning  too. 

Don  Eugenio  handed  me  a  letter,  which  I  was  to 
give  my  parents.  It  explained,  he  said,  the  reason  why 
he  was  returning  me.  "And  I  have  added,"  said  my 
master,  "that  you  have  made  progress  with  your  Latin 
and  that  Don  Arcadio  and  I  appreciate  your  services. 
Is  that  not  so?"  And  as  he  turned  towards  the  Noah- 
cite he  yawned  again. 

Our  host  was  sitting  with  his  eyes  shut  and  his  head 
had  fallen  forward.  Now  he  jerked  himself  into  an 
upright  posture  and  he  rubbed  his  eyebrow,  which  the 
candle  must  have  singed. 

"Oh,  certainly!"  he  cried.  "I  appreciate  you  very 
much.  What  a  beautiful  night!"  And  then  he  sank 
again  into  a  happy  sleep. 

My  master  got  up  carefully  and  glided  to  the  door — 
he  had  no  boots  on — and  with  infinite  precautions 
opened  it.  He  stooped  to  whisper,  with  a  shrewd  smile, 
in  my  ear  that  he  had  scarcely  paid  more  heed  to  the 

107 


io8    THE  HOUSE  OF  THE  FIGHTING-COCKS 

Noahcite's  harangues  and  arguments  and  absurdities  in 
that  room  there  than  Faustino  at  this  moment.  And 
he  pointed  to  Faustino  sleeping  in  his  old  place  at  the 
door  of  Don  Arcadio's  room. 

"The  consequence  has  been,"  my  master  said, 
"that  we  have  grown  quite  fond  of  one  another.  Now 
good-by,  dear  child.  May  God  protect  you.  And 
remember  that  there  is  a  God.  The  words  of  that 
old  reprobate  have  no  more  life  than  water  in  a 
ditch." 

I  kissed  his  hand  impetuously  and  I  hastened  out, 
with  my  small  bundle  underneath  one  arm.  The 
street  was  empty.  I  strode  up  towards  the  plaza 
where  the  coach  would  be.  But  I  could  not  help  look- 
ing back  and  there  my  master  stood  beside  the  door — 
his  candle  seeming  very  strange — while  at  her  window 
stood  Maria,  making  diverse  signals  that  she  wished 
me  well.    I  waved  my  hand,  I  hurried  on  again. 

The  coach  was  being  driven  round  the  plaza  by  a 
boy  who  was  not  older  than  myself,  and  Seiior  Bias  in 
his  great  cloak  was  striding  up  and  down  with  some 
one  else  who  had  a  cloak  drawn  up  across  his  chin,  and 
they  were  talking  very  earnestly.  Some  half-awakened 
passengers  stood  in  a  group  beside  their  luggage,  and 
the  sweetmeat-seller  asked  them  if  they  would  have  a 
refreshing  drink  or  flavored  snow.  But  they  were 
angry  with  him.  And  the  boy  who  drove  the  coach 
got  up  and  cracked  his  whip  and  shouted  at  the  mules, 
who  went  on  walking  round  the  plaza.  I  could  see  the 
passengers  consult  with  one  another;  yet  they  did  not 
like  to  interrupt  the  talk  of  Senor  Bias,  because  it  evi- 
dently was  most  serious.  And  so  they  stamped  their 
feet  and  breathed  into  their  hands  and  muttered.  Then 
the  sweetmeat-seller  told  me  that  the  day  was  ex- 
cellent, he  gave  me  a  long  piece  of  chocolate  and 


THE  HOUSE  OF  THE  FIGHTING-COCKS     109 

wished  me  a  good  journey.  And  at  last  the  talk  of 
Senor  Bias  was  done,  he  got  on  to  the  coach  and  called 
me  to  sit  next  to  him.  When  all  the  passengers  had 
either  got  inside  the  coach  or  climbed  on  with  their 
luggage  to  the  top,  Senor  Bias  addressed  a  word,  as 
I  had  often  seen  him,  to  the  mules,  and  slowly  they 
began  to  pull.  Yet  I  had  to  clutch  the  seat,  for  I  had 
never  traveled  on  a  coach  before,  and  I  was  almost 
shaken  off. 

The  face  of  Seiior  Bias  was  very  grim,  but  when  he 
looked  at  me  and  saw  how  I  was  clinging  to  the  seat 
he  smiled. 

"Aha!  they  shall  not  save  themselves,"  said  he,  "the 
tyrants ! " 

Then  he  ground  his  teeth,  but  went  on  smiling  at 
me.  But  I  had  no  time  to  ask  him  what  he  meant, 
because  the  houses  which  we  passed  were  large  and 
small  and  blue  and  pink  and  gray — I  had  not  seen  this 
portion  of  the  town  before — and  flowers  grew  all  over 
them.  We  came  past  a  Franciscan  convent  which  was 
very  old;  the  monks  inside  were  singing,  so  that 
Seiior  Bias  began  to  sing  a  little.  And  a  passenger, 
who  thought  that  now  he  would  not  be  severe,  began 
to  question  him. 

"I  should  be  obliged,  sefior,"  said  the  passenger, 
"if  you  could  tell  me  why  the  coach  did  not  leave 
earlier." 

As  Seiior  Bias  did  not  reply  at  once,  another 
passenger  exclaimed  that  it  was  scandalous  for 
coaches  to  set  out  before  the  sun  had  made  the  air 
warm.  "I  have  traveled  in  all  parts,"  said  this  one, 
"I  have  been  to  Puebla  by  the  coach,  and  from 
Puebla  I  have  been  to  Mexico  itself,  and  as  for 
Cordoba  I  have  on  numberless  occasions — Sir!  I  tell 
you  that  I  have  spent  many  ounces  of  good  gold  on 


no    THE  HOUSE  OF  THE  FIGHTING-COCKS 

these  coaches  of  yours,  but  as  for  leaving  at  barbaric 
times  I  never  found  one  such  as  this,  and  if  I  die  of  it, 
then— I  shall  die." 

Senor  Bias  made  the  long  whip  curl  splendidly  and 
strike  the  neck  of  one  of  the  front  mules,  just  where 
the  flies  had  made  an  open  wound.  By  this  he  showed 
that  he  was  meditating,  and  he  sang  so  softly  now  that 
I  could  scarcely  hear  him. 

''What  a  country  we  are  in!"  declared  the  first 
passenger. 

"That  is  it!"  cried  the  second.  'T  have  not  the 
honor,  sir,  of  knowing  you,  but  with  your  permission 
I  agree  with  every  word  you  say.  What  a  country! 
I  have  traveled  in  all  parts  of  it.  I  have  been  to 
Puebla  and  other  places,  but  everywhere  it  is  the  same. 
And  there  is  no  remedy." 

By  this  time  we  were  out  beyond  the  houses;  by  the 
road  were  aloes  and  banana-trees  and  chirimoyas,  not 
to  mention  other  trees  of  which  you  cannot  eat  the 
fruit.  Some  of  the  passengers  tried  with  their  hands 
to  catch  the  fruit,  but  now  the  mules  were  running 
faster.  Sefior  Bias  leaned  forward,  and  as  we  came 
near  a  tree  of  lemons  he  cut  off  a  branch  so  grandly 
with  his  whip  that  it  fell  right  across  the  coach,  and 
everybody  clapped  their  hands  or  said  bravo. 

"They  are  at  the  disposal  of  the  gentlemen,"  said 
Sefior  Bias.  "Come,"  said  he,  "let  us  throw  aside  our 
cares  and  let  us  sing  the  Paloma.  Who  will  sing  with 
me?    One — two  .  .  ." 

Then  he  started,  and  I  think  we  all  were  singing  it. 
And  when  we  reached  the  end  we  sang  it  all  again. 
The  passengers  were  so  much  comforted  that  one  of 
them — he  who  had  traveled  everywhere — said  it  was 
the  most  perfect  song  of  all  the  world.  And  that  other 
passenger  said  yes,  it  surely  was;  and  fortunate,  said 


THE  HOUSE  OF  THE  FIGHTING-COCKS     in 

he,  was  the  country  which  could  produce  a  thing  of 
that  sort. 

"Let  us  sing  it  once  again/'  said  Senor  Bias. 

"What  this  gentleman  was  saying/'  quoth  the  first 
passenger,  "is  nothing  more  than  truth.  It  is  there 
on  the  surface,  like  the  ducks.  I  say  that  in  other 
countries  you  may  dig  out  of  the  earth  more  gold  than 
here  in  Mexico,  but  out  of  the  gold  come  quarrels  and 
murders.  And  out  of  our  song  the  Paloma  come  no 
quarrels,  no  murder,  no  hatred." 

Senor  Bias  and  all  of  us  began  again  that  exquisite 
and  soothing  melody.  We  passed  a  bare-legged, 
grizzled  vagabond,  who  took  off  his  sombrero  and 
gazed  up  at  us  with  the  expression  of  a  dog  unjustly 
hit.  We  clattered  on  and  did  not  stop  our  singing, 
but  we  threw  into  his  hat  or  on  the  road  some  pieces 
of  small  money  and  some  chocolate  and  some  lemons. 
I  believe  we  sang  for  more  than  a  whole  league  and 
certainly  long  after  sunrise.  Senor  Bias  shook  off  his 
cloak,  so  did  the  passengers,  and  they  were  getting 
friendlier  and  friendlier  to  one  another  and  to  Senor 
Bias.  They  held  out  cigarettes  to  him,  and  when  he 
took  them  they  were  very  glad;  one  passenger  had 
some  cigars  rolled  up  inside  a  vegetable  leaf,  and 
saying  only  "Do  me  the  favor,"  he  put  three  or  four 
of  them  between  myself  and  Seiior  Bias.  I  seized 
them  as  they  were  about  to  fall;  we  had  to  stop  the 
coach  in  order  that  they  might  be  safely  stowed  in 
Senor  Bias's  hat.  So  there  was  always  something  going 
on,  and  I  had  very  little  leisure  for  the  other  things: 
the  women,  now  and  then,  with  children  on  their  backs, 
the  loaded  strings  of  mules,  the  white  and  blue  and 
scarlet  flowers  hanging  from  the  trees,  but  so  high 
that  I  could  not  reach  them,  and  from  time  to  time 
a  wooden  cross  with  some  initials  on  it,  and  then 


112    THE  HOUSE  OF  THE  FIGHTING-COCKS 

myrtle  trees  and  palms  and  the  green  liquidambar, 
and,  far  off^  between  tliern  one  could  see  the  moun- 
tains that  were  in  a  haze  already.  I  am  sure  I  would 
not  have  observed  one-half  of  these  things  even  if  it 
had  not  been  for  Senor  Bias,  Vv^ho  likewise  told  me 
of  the  wooden  crosses  which  were  often  over  friends 
of  his  or  enemies. 

If  this  had  not  been  my  first  journey  in  a  coach, 
perhaps  I  would  have  spent  the  day  in  thinking  of  my 
master  and  Maria,  and  my  parents  and  the  others  I 
would  see,  and  Don  Arcadio  and  Faustino.  But  when 
I  was  ready  to  remember  them  I  was  a  little  weary, 
from  .the  jolting,  and  the  dust  was  in  my  eyes,  and  it 
was  very  warm.  So  I  thought  of  them  rather  lan- 
guidly, and  as  I  dropped  to  sleep  I  seemed  to  hear  my 
master  speaking  to  me  very  gently,  saying  that  he 
promised  I  should  soon  go  back  to  him.  And  then  I 
seemed  to  have  Maria  walking  with  me  hand  in  hand 
— her  w^ords  were  like  the  white  flowers  falling  over 
me — and  then  I  knew  she  was  far  off,  that  I  was  rolling 
further,  further — and  it  was  as  if  a  knife  was  in  me. 

Senor  Bias  with  his  left  hand  pulled  his  cloak  up  to 
my  shoulders  and  said  that  we  should  be  in  a  fine 
large  village  in  an  hour.  But  we  were  not.  For  as 
we  bumped  along  a  stretch  of  road  that  was  no  rockier 
than  the  rest  and  which  had  holes  not  any  larger, 
suddenly  one  of  the  wheels  collapsed  and  Senor  Bias 
made  the  mules  stop.  He  and  all  of  us  got  down,  the 
wheel  was  broken  utterly,  and  after  looking  at  it  for 
a  little  time  he  said  this  was  no  accident,  that  some  one 
in  Jalapa  had  arranged  the  whole  affair,  and  very 
jovially  he  said  that  if  there  was  a  gentleman  to  whom 
he  owed  some  money  he  would  pay  him  now. 

The  passengers  knew  very  well  what  he  was  thinking 
of;    they  hurried   hither,   thither,   cursing,   shouting, 


THE  HOUSE  OF  THE  FIGHTING-COCKS     113 

giving  orders,  while  their  pistols  glittered  in  the  sun- 
light. Senor  Bias  looked  at  the  wheel  and  shook  his 
head,  but  no  one  else  would  look  at  it:  one  passenger 
was  crawling  underneath  his  luggage  in  the  coach, 
another  was  behind  a  tree,  two  others  simply  ran  a 
few  steps  up  the  road^  then  back  again,  not  knowing 
what  to  do.  Senor  Bias  said  that  it  would  be  possible 
to  mend  the  wheel  if  they  would  help  him,  but  they 
all  said  that  it  was  no  use,  and  why  should  they  exert 
themselves  in  vain?  Then  Senor  Bias  said  that  the 
mules  might  have  their  dinner,  and  he  gave  it  them. 
He  moved  about  as  if  he  were  at  peace  with  all  the 
world,  and  then  a  passenger  called  out  to  him,  and 
in  a  bitter  voice,  that  this  was  a  good  opportunity  to 
sing  his  dear  Paloma. 

"What  a  country!"  said  the  passenger  who  was 
inside  the  coach.  "Alas,  alas!  what  will  happen  to  us? 
And  it  is  our  ov^^n  fault — we  should  have  examined  all 
the  wheels." 

One  of  the  two  passengers  who  had  been  rushing 
up  and  down  the  road  exclaimed  that  this  was  not 
the  truth,  because  it  was  the  Government's  own  fault. 
The  Government,  said  he,  was  weak.  If  it  were  strong 
the  bandits  would  be  frightened.  It  is  clear  enough, 
said  he. 

But  that  one  who  was  in  the  coach  said  this  was 
something  he  could  talk  about,  and  very  well.  He 
was  excited.  As  it  happened,  this  was  just  the  very 
subject,  so  he  said,  on  which  he  had  been  meditating 
many  years,  and  he  would  be  surprised  if  he  knew  less 
about  it  than  did  other  people.  Should  a  country 
have,  or  should  it  not  have,  a  strong  Government? 
"That  is  what  we  are  discussing,  is  it  not,  senor?"  said 
he.  "And  I  will  tell  you  that  I  am  a  barrister,  ac- 
quainted with  the  laws  of  Rome  and  other  ancient 


114    THE  HOUSE  OF  THE  FIGHTING-COCKS 

countries,  with  the  Spanish  laws  and  with  the  French. 
And  I  am  altogether  at  your  service."  He  was  smiling 
in  a  calm,  triumphant  way;  and  if  he  was  uncom- 
fortable in  the  coach  he  did  not  show  it. 

"Sefior,"  said  the  other  one  as  he  stood  smiling  also 
and  caressing  his  black  beard,  "I  have  not  meditated 
about  all  those  things,  for  I  am  only  a  commercial  man 
of  Veracruz;  but  I  permit  myself  to  say  that  in  this 
land  the  laws  of  Rome  and  France  and  all  the  others 
flourish  just  as  much  as  any  of  the  laws  of  Mexico, 
That  is  the  kind  of  country  that  one  has  to  live  in!" 

The  other  passengers  and  Sefior  Bias  and  I  collected 
round  this  gentleman;  that  one  who  had  been  walking 
with  him  up  and  down  said  that  assuredly  he  had  the 
right  on  his  side  and  he  patted  him  upon  the  back. 

The  barrister  asked  in  a  loud  voice  for  some 
patience.  "Do  I  understand,"  said  he  to  the  com- 
mercial man,  "that  what  you  want  is  a  strong 
Government?    I  ask  you  nothing  else." 

They  all  replied  in  chorus  that  of  course  it  should  be 
strong.  And  Sefior  Bias  held  up  his  forefinger  and 
said  the  Government  should  be  not  only  strong  but 
good.    And  we  all  murmured  our  applause. 

The  barrister  did  not  seem  disconcerted.  Holding 
himself  at  the  window  with  his  left  hand,  he  held  up 
the  other  with  the  open  palm  towards  us,  and  a  look  of 
sympathy  came  over  him.  "It  will  be  very  easy  for 
me,"  he  began,  "to  show  you  that  it  is  the  object  of 
the  greatest  men  to  make  the  Government  more  weak, 
less  capable  of  interfering  with  our  liberty.  There  are, 
relatively  speaking,  few  things  which  we  should  allow 
the  Government  to  do.  What  can  be  more  divine 
than  liberty?  And,  gentlemen,  remember  that  by 
Article  No.  3  of  our  Constitution  of  1857  it  is  pro- 
mulgated to  the  whole  world  of  the  two  Americas  and 


THE  HOUSE  OF  THE  FIGHTING-COCKS     115 

Europe  that  as  soon  as  any  slave  shall  set  his  foot 
upon  our  soil  he  is  a  free  man.  What  could  be  more 
lofty,  what  could  be  a  better  proof  that  we^  beyond 
all  other  countries,  worship  freedom?  And  you,  gen- 
tlemen, would  lightly  throw  away  our  grandeur,  you 
would  have  us  brought  down  to  the  level  of  those  other 
kingdoms,  empires,  and  republics  with  their  strong, 
their  interfering  Governments,  their  Governments 
which  have  no  article  like  that  one,  for  the  simple 
reason  that  they  loathe  the  very  words  'a  free  man.' 
Is  that  not  the  case?" 

He  halted  for  no  answer,  but  continued  headlong: 
"Plato  said  that  there  are  States  which  have  true 
artists  for  their  rulers,  ruling  in  a  spirit  of  unselfish- 
ness, and  States  that  wolfish  rulers  govern  selfishly. 
Wolfish  men,  unselfish  men — that  is  how  they  rule  us 
if  they  have  the  power.  And  clearly  men  are  much 
more  often  of  the  first  kind — they  are  as  bad  as  God 
made  them,  said  Sancho  Panza,  and  some  of  them  a 
good  deal  worse — so  that  generally  men  should  not 
have  much  power  over  other  men.  Indeed,  a  land 
with  a  weak  Government  is  very  blessed." 

"And  I  suppose,"  said  Sefior  Bias,  "that  one  with 
two  or  three  weak  Governments,  all  at  the  same  time, 
is  more  blessed?" 

"When  we  come  to  Rome,"  said  the  barrister,  and 
in  a  louder  voice,  "what  do  we  find?  The  people  of  a 
single  town  were  governing  the  world.  Will  anybody, 
here  or  elsewhere,  contradict  me  when  I  say  that  this 
was  a  superb  material  success  and  also  of  the  spirit, 
for  a  man  was  proud  to  boast,  'Civis  Romanus  sum'? 
No  success  indeed  could  have  been  greater,  and  the 
Government  was  weak.  Yes,  it  was  very  weak, 
because  the  people  wielded  it  and  not  a  single  man  or 
any  clique.    That  was  the  time  of  glory  .  .  ,  Later  on 


ii6    THE  HOUSE  OF  THE  FIGHTING-COCKS 

the  Government  was  strengthened,  for  the  generals 
placed  themselves  above  the  people  and  one  general 
above  his  fellows.  So  the  Government  was  strong, 
supported  by  the  army;  and  as  a  result  all  freedom 
everywhere  was  crushed  beneath  the  Roman  military 
despotism." 

It  was  in  the  middle  of  the  barrister's  oration  that  a 
splendid  cavalier  had  joined  us.  He  did  not  dismount, 
but  guided  his  young  foaming  stallion  near  enough  for 
him  to  hear  the  speech;  and  at  the  end  of  it  this 
gentleman  removed  his  hat  and  bowed  to  all  the 
others.  Sefior  Bias  and  he  had  evidently  met  before; 
but  no  one  else  was  smiling,  and  the  cavalier  composed 
himself  as  he  looked  round  and  bowed  again,  and  said 
he  trusted  that  they  would  not  let  him  interrupt  them. 

"By  no  means,"  said  the  barrister.  "And  I  believe, 
sir,  you  are  interested  in  this  argument  which  turns 
upon  the  question  as  to  whether  it  is  preferable  for  a 
Government  to  be  a  weak  thing  or  a  strong  one." 

The  commercial  man  broke  in.  "A  traveler,"  said 
he,  "of  such  distinction  must  assuredly  be  with  us.  It 
is  only  a  strong  Government  which  can  protect  a 
citizen  who  is  so  richly  garbed;  and  I  am  sure  you 
often  must  have  wished  to  be  in  countries  where  the 
people  are  protected.  Why,  your  silver  spurs,  to  men- 
tion nothing  else,  must  cause  you  terrible  anxiety." 

The  cavalier  replied  in  a  most  graceful  way  to  both. 
He  said  that  he  entreated  them  to  talk  as  if  he  were 
not  there  at  all.  In  these  high  matters  he  was  very 
ignorant,  as  yet. 

"Oh,  well,"  said  Seiior  Bias,  "I  know  some  naughty 
brigands  who  believe  they  flourish  here  because  our 
Government  is  weak.  Is  that  not  so,  my  friend?  And 
what  a  ludicrous  mistake!" 

"Never,"  said  the  cavalier  most  courteously,  "no, 


THE  HOUSE  OF  THE  FIGHTING-COCKS     117 

never  shall  I  contradict  you.  But  I  should  be  really 
glad  to  learn,  most  estimable  Seiior  Bias,  why  it  is 
such  a  ludicrous  mistake." 

'Then  I  will  tell  you,  Don  Fernando." 

There  was  something  in  their  voices  which  caused 
everybody  else  to  listen  quite  attentively — the  bar- 
rister, who  now  was  leaning  far  out  of  the  window, 
and  the  bearded  man,  the  other  couple  and  myself. 

"Bueno,  in  this  country,"  said  Senor  Bias,  "the 
people  are  of  such  a  sort  that  even  if  the  Government 
were  strong  the  brigands  would  accomplish  their 
desires.  It  is  not  possible  for  any  Government  to 
get  the  better  of  them,  with  a  people  such  as  we  are. 
Always,  always  if  a  brigand  or  a  soldier  lays  his  hand 
on  something  or  on  somebody  there  is  no  shadow  of 
resistance.  In  this  way  we  Mexicans  are  made.  That 
a  man  should  suffer  is  a  good  thing,  but  that  he  should 
be  prepared  to  suffer  more  is  bad." 

"What  a  country!"  said  the  barrister. 

"It  will  not  cease  from  effervescing  or  it  will  not 
effervesce  at  all  and  both  are  bad,  in  my  view,"  said 
the  man  of  commerce. 

Senor  Bias  ignored  the  interruptions  and  proceeded: 
"I  will  give  you  an  example.  In  a  farmstead  were  a 
certain  company  of  brigands  who  first  overpowered 
the  men  and  afterwards  went  seeking  for  the  women. 
Two  of  these — a  handsome  girl  and  her  decrepit 
mother — had  been  hiding  in  the  same  room,  but  in 
different  cupboards.  Well,  they  found  the  girl  and 
dragged  her  out  and  all  that.  Then  they  found  the 
mother  and  were  dragging  her  out  also  when  the  girl 
entreated  them,  with  tears  and  piteous  screaming,  to 
be  merciful.  She  flung  herself  before  the  feet  of  one 
of  them  and  begged  him  that  her  mother  should  be 
spared.    But   the   mother   was   annoyed   and   curtly 


ii8    THE  HOUSE  OF  THE  FIGHTING-COCKS 

bade  her  daughter  to  be  quiet.     'Say  no  more,  you 
foolish  one,'  quoth  she.    'It  is  the  fortune  of  war.'  " 

"And,  gentlemen,"  said  the  cavalier,  after  they  had 
stopped  laughing,  "there  is  not  another  tale  more  true 
than  that  one.  It  was  at  a  farm  near  La  Calera  in 
that  pleasant  region.  I  remember  it  as  though  it  had 
all  happened  to  us  yesterday.  Gentlemen,"  said  he, 
with  a  vibration  in  his  voice,  "I  beg  that  you  will  not 
be  rash." 

Every  one  save  Senor  Bias,  was  pointing  with  his 
pistol  more  or  less  in  the  direction  of  the  cavaher. 
And  he  seemed  to  be  covering  them  all  with  his  own 
weapon. 

"You  were  arguing,"  said  he,  "about  the  Govern- 
ment, if  it  is  better  weak  or  strong.  And  Senor  Bias, 
my  old  friend,  is  of  the  opinion  that  a  nation's 
character  is  more  important  than  the  Government. 
I  am  extremely  interested  in  such  thoughts,  for  I  shall 
some  day,  when  it  is  more  opportune,  renounce  this 
undomestic  life  and  I  shall  let  myself  become  a 
deputy — that  is  what  I  have  ever  placed  before 
myself.  But  as  for  Senor  Bias,  I  think  he  has  good 
reason  on  his  side.  And  I  think  there  is  something 
else  which  is  of  more  importance  than  a  Government. 
There  is  our  holiest  religion." 

As  he  said  these  words  he  crossed  himself,  with  that 
same  hand  as  held  the  pistol.  Other  hands  among 
the  group  of  men  were  hesitating  or  spasmodically 
imitating  his,  as  if  their  owners  had  not  got  control  of 
them. 

"It  is  religion,"  Don  Fernando  said,  "which  causes 
me  to  come  here  by  myself  and  not  with  any  of  my 
comrades.  We  were  on  the  outskirts  of  Jalapa  when 
we  met  a  priest  who  was  transporting  the  viaticum. 
We  saw  him  and  his  acolyte,  who  swung  the  incense; 


THE  HOUSE  OF  THE  FIGHTING-COCKS     119 

naturally  we  dismounted,  we  knelt  down  upon  the 
road  and  prayed  devoutly  for  the  dying  man  to  whom 
the  priest  was  going.  We  remained  thus  for  a  time 
in  ardent  prayer  that  the  sins  of  this  man  should  be 
all  forgiven.  There  was  yet,  when  we  arose,  a  faint 
smell  of  that  incense  in  the  air.  With  one  accord  we 
said  that  this  was  not  the  day  for  any  enterprise  such 
as  we  had  intended.  And,  indeed,  if  we  had  perse- 
vered with  it  I  doubt  if  God  would  ever  have  protected 
us  again.  So  I  have  only  come  in  order  to  relate  what 
has  occurred  and  so  that  you  can  put  away  all  your 
anxiety." 

"Hombre!  that  is  kind  of  you,"  said  Seiior  Bias. 
"Nay,  more,  I  am  at  the  disposal  of  your  worships," 
said  the  cavalier.    "How  can  I  serve  you?" 

He  was  very  much  in  earnest,  one  could  see,  but 
nobody  made  a  suggestion.  Some  were  frowning,  some 
were  gazing  at  him  in  a  stupid  way.  At  last  he  said 
that  he  would  ride  into  the  nearest  place  and  bring  us 
back  a  wheel.  He  would  go  instantly,  and  it  would 
not  be  like  that  person  of  the  proverb  who  went  out  for 
wool  and  came  back  shorn. 

The  cavalier  departed,  and  we  stopped  beside  the 
coach  for  several  hours.  At  first  they  talked  with 
vehemence  about  the  cavalier  and  Mexico  and  liberty 
and  other  things.  Then,  as  the  sun  beat  down  upon 
the  road,  they  got  inside  the  coach  and  started  playing 
cards,  and  most  of  them  became  exasperated  on  ac- 
count of  their  bad  cards  -and  of  the  "heat  and  of  the 
cavalier's  delay  and  of  the  big  flies  which  the  mules 
attracted.  Clearly  Don  Fernando  had  not  found  a 
wheel  in  the  first  village  or  the  second.  And  although 
the  passengers  told  Senor  Bias  that  he  would  not  return 
at  all,  of  course  he  came;  but  in  the  meantime  I  had 
ample  opportunity  for  thinking  of  the  new,  strange  life 


I20    THE  HOUSE  OF  THE  FIGHTING-COCKS 

up  at  Jalapa,  out  of  which  I  had  been  torn.  And  in 
my  hours  of  loneliness  beside  that  road  I  grew  more 
desperate  and  yet  more  desperate  in  the  resolve  that  I 
would  not  remain  at  Colorado.  You  might  just  as  well 
command  a  boy  to  turn  away  from  the  procession  of 
a  circus  when  he  has  beheld  the  marvelous  beginning 
of  it.  Later  on  I  grew  less  violent,  because  I  told 
myself  that  if  my  parents  tried  to  keep  me  I  would 
run  away  or  take  no  food,  or  by  some  other  method 
show  them  that  I  was  not  to  be  hindered. 

When  the  cavalier  came  back  and  had  assisted  us 
to  put  the  wheel  on,  he  saluted  us  and  rode  away 
towards  Jalapa.  As  he  went  he  sang,  but  rather 
mournfully,  the  first  few  bars  of  the  Paloma. 

We,  however,  on  the  coach,  refrained  from  singing, 
for  the  mules  were  made  by  Seiior  Bias  to  go  so  rapidly 
that  we  were  in  extreme  discomfort  and  in  danger. 
But  although  we  went  at  such  a  speed  it  was  entirely 
dark  when  we  arrived  at  Colorado.  They  were  in  so 
great  a  hurry  that  they  said  good-by  to  me  before 
we  got  there,  and  as  soon  as  I  was  on  the  ground  they 
rolled  away.  That  was  the  last  I  saw  of  any  of  those 
passengers. 

There  in  the  darkness  of  my  village,  as  I  struck  out 
for  my  parents'  house,  it  seemed  to  me  the  dust 
through  which  I  had  to  walk  was  most  barbaric  after 
those  good  cobbles  of  Jalapa.  My  poor  parents,  how  I 
pitied  them!  And  in  the  large  room  of  the  house  there 
was  my  mother  and  with  her  Don  Bartolme  Robledo, 
the  old  captain.  I  had  flung  myself  against  the  door 
impetuously;  then  I  stopped — they  were  all  blinking 
at  me:  my  poor  mother,  the  old  captain,  and  the  candle. 

But  how  different  had  been  the  flame  upon  my 
master's  candle,  as  he  stood  that  morning  in  the  cloak 
and  watched  me  leave  him! 


CHAPTER  X 

As  I  sank  down  at  my  mother's  side  and  was  em- 
bracing her,  she  murmured  incoherent  words  of  love. 
She  pressed  me  very  tightly  to  her.  Then,  while  she 
was  crooning  still,  she  touched  me  on  the  head  and  on 
the  shoulder  and  the  arms,  wherever  she  could  reach, 
because  she  was  afraid  that  I  was  injured. 

"What  is  the  matter  with  him?"  asked  Don 
Bartolme. 

I  told  her  that  I  was  not  hurt  at  all. 

"No,  no!"  she  said.  "I  am  your  mother  and  you 
cannot  hide  it  from  me.  This  is  what  I  always  knew 
would  happen  and  I  always  told  your  father.  I  shall 
tell  him  when  he  comes  in  from  the  shop,  where  he  is 
playing  cards  as  usual  with  Gonzalez  and  the  others. 
It  was  very  wrong  of  me  to  let  you  go  with  that  man 
who  was  fat  and — and — tell  me  what  they  did  to  you." 

In  vain  I  tried  to  reassure  her.  But  the  Captain 
presently  had  a  most  useful  thought,  when  he  said  that 
it  would  be  well  to  give  me  food.  He  helped  my 
mother  to  prepare  the  meal,  and  then  he  sat  down  with 
me,  for  he  himself — my  father  being  absent — had  not 
had  his  supper.  I  was  so  tired  that  I  nearly  fell 
asleep  while  I  was  eating,  and  my  mother  rambled  on : 

"To  come  back  at  this  hour  of  the  night,  as  if  he 
were  a  thief!  And  he  the  son  of  Pedro,  who  is  every- 
where respected  for  the  valiance  of  his  fighting-cocks. 
Why  should  our  son  return  in  this  way?  They  have 
not  been  good  to  him,  or  he  has  seen  that  all  the  world 
is  nothing  but  a  snare,  as  the  priest  said.    Don  Bar- 

121 


122    THE  HOUSE  OF  THE  FIGHTING-COCKS 

tolme,  when  I  told  the  priest  that  Juanito  in  Jalapa 
would  be  educated,  he  replied  that  it  was  good  and 
when  I  said  he  would  obtain  a  high  place  with  this 
education  the  old  priest  said  that  all  greatness  is  a 
snare,  as  was  perceived  by  warriors  and  noblemen  who 
had  themselves  enrolled^  the  priest  said,  in  the  ranks 
of  Capuchins.  Well  then,  said  I,  what  is  the  use  of 
education?  .  .  .  Look  at  me,  my  son,"  she  said,  "it  is 
so  plain  that  you  are  ill." 

"What  I  know,"  said  Don  Bartolme,  "is  this,  that 
if  they  had  provided  him  with  such  delicious  beans  he 
would  have  kept  his  health  intact."  The  aged  Cap- 
tain was  enjoying  his  brown  beans  immensely. 

"After  you  had  gone  away  with  that  old  man  from 
Spain,"  my  mother  said,  "I  thought  that  you  would 
give'  yourself  to  soldiery,  since  you  had  always  been 
encouraged  by  your  father  in  those  soldier-games.  And 
then  it  would  no  longer  be  a  game,  but  something 
serious  with  an  evil  end.  Your  father  would  not  listen 
to  me,  and  I  told  a  man  of  reason  who  was  traveling 
through  Colorado,  but  he  said  it  was  like  some  of  the 
celebrated  saints  to  be  a  soldier,  and  that  if  one  lived 
in  a  large  town  instead  of  Colorado  one  would  mingle 
with  high  officers  and  know  them  well.  Of  what  ad- 
vantage is  it  that  my  Juanito  should  know  all  about 
the  virtues  and  the  vices  of  some  General,  I  ask?" 

The  beans  and  other  food  had  put  fresh  life  into  the 
aged  Captain.  He  banged  with  his  fist  upon  the  table, 
and  declared  that  there  is  no  vice  in  a  General  of 
Mexico. 

"The  rogue  you  are!"  my  mother  cried.  "Or  did 
you  never  hear  of  that  one  who  was  writing  to  his 
daughter  and  said:  T  hope  you  are  well,  I  wade  in 
blood.'  .  .  .  But  let  me  tell  you  that  my  Juanito  was 
not  made  to  be  a  man  of  that  sort.    And  he  knows  it 


THE  HOUSE  OF  THE  FIGHTING-COCKS     123 

too,"  she  added  in  victorious  tones,  "and  that  is  why 
he  has  escaped.  O  my  beloved  one,  they  shall  not 
catch  you,  and  no  other  man  from  Spain  or  anywhere 
shall  take  you  from  your  mother.  Now  go  to  your 
bed."  She  kissed  me  on  the  brow  more  fervently  than 
she  had  ever  done. 

Then  footsteps  and  some  other  noises  rang  outside 
the  house,  and  in  a  very  little  time  my  father,  and 
Gonzalez  and  his  woman  Enriqueta  were  encircling 
me.  Their  mood  was  jovial,  and  my  father  caught 
me  in  his  arms.  He  laughed  and  talked  and  pinched 
me,  and  was  not  at  all  depressed  when  he  observed  the 
gloomy  silence  of  my  mother.  It  was  splendid  to  be 
with  him  after  all  her  anxious  speculation. 

"Father  Pedro,"  said  my  mother  in  a  warning  voice, 
"you  know  not  why  he  has  returned." 

And  Enriqueta  told  Gonzalez  to  go  over  to  the  shop 
and  bring  a  bottle  of  his  wine  for  them  to  drink  my 
health. 

"You  are  a  heartless  person,"  said  my  mother.  "He 
is  very  sick.  I  wish  that  he  were  looking  still  as  he 
did  half  an  hour  ago  before  his  supper.  Then  you 
would  perhaps  close  fast  your  mouth." 

My  father  asked  me  if  I  had  enjoyed  my  supper,  and 
when  I  said  we  had  eaten  everything  he  was  delighted, 
put  his  hand  upon  my  stomach,  and  said  anyhow  there 
was  one  part  of  me  which  was  not  ailing. 

"Leave  him  alone!"  cried  my  mother.  "I  will  not 
have  you  touch  him  there." 

"Then,"  said  my  father,  "I  will  carry  him  to  bed." 
He  took  me  up  in  his  strong  arms.  And  at  the  door 
he  turned  and  with  his  joyous  laugh  exclaimed:  "The 
Holy  Roman  belly!"  As  he  carried  me  along,  I  heard 
them  laughing  down  below.  I  knew  that  my  good 
mother  would  try  vainly  not  to  laugh;  there  never  yet 


124    THE  HOUSE  OF  THE  FIGHTING-COCKS 

had  been  in  Colorado  any  woman  or  a  man  so  stubborn 
as  to  hear  those  words  without  hilarity.  Some  traveler 
from  Spain  had  left  them  years  ago;  for  he  had  told 
us  of  a  Holy  Roman  Emperor,  I  believe  that  it  was 
Charles  the  Fifth,  who  was  a  very  mighty  man.  One 
day,  when  he  was  ill  in  bed,  the  doctor  pressed  him 
through  the  bed-clothes,  here  and  there,  to  find  the  seat 
of  trouble ;  and  when  he  began  to  touch  the  sore  place, 
"Hold!"  cried  the  Emperor,  "remove  your  hand  from 
off  the  Holy  Roman  belly."  That  is  why  we  always 
laughed  at  Colorado  when  we  talked  of  bellies. 

As  my  father  laid  me  down  he  said  that  he  knew  all 
about  the  Noahcite,  for  he  had  made  inquiries  from  a 
customer  who  told  him  that  the  Noahcite  was  mad, 
and  very  rich  and  amiable.  The  customer  revealed 
so  much  about  the  life  of  Don  Arcadio  that  my  father 
had  resolved,  as  soon  as  possible,  to  pay  us  all  a  visit 
at  Jalapa.  Had  I  run  away,  he  asked,  or  had  I  only 
come  to  have  a  holiday? 

"Yes,  holiday,"  said  I,  "and  Senor  Bias  will  take 
me  back." 

My  father  kissed  me  and  I  fell  at  once  into  a  dream- 
less sleep.  But  early  in  the  morning  when  I  gradually 
woke  the  first  sensation  which  I  had  was  one  of  dread 
that  I  should  have  to  stay  between  these  walls.  One 
episode  and  then  another  from  the  previous  night  went 
flying  through  my  head — and  glimpses  of  Jalapa  flew 
among  them.  How  I  shuddered  at  the  difference!  For 
I  belonged  to  Don  Eugenio  and  the  Noahcite.  I  shud- 
dered as  I  thought  about  my  parents,  and  yet  and 
yet  I  loved  my  father,  and  my  mother  also.  Every 
word  which  they  had  said  the  night  before  came  back 
to  me,  and  that  one  which  I  clung  to  most  was  "holi- 
day," my  father's  word.  As  I  grew  more  composed 
I  set  myself  to  plot  and  plan  how  I  could  use  this  word 


THE  HOUSE  OF  THE  FIGHTING-COCKS     125 

of  his.  And  in  the  end  I  had  decided  that  I  would 
read  out  to  them  my  master's  letter — since  they  could 
not  read  I  might  say  anything^  and  it  should  be  about 
a  little  holiday. 

When  I  was  with  my  parents  afterwards  it  happened 
all  as  I  had  hoped.  My  father  looked  at  me  and  told 
my  mother  that  she  was  a  silly  woman  if  she  still 
persisted  that  I  was  unwell.  And  she  admitted  that  I 
had  improved  since  my  arrival.    Oh,  I  was  so  glad! 

And  so  were  they  when  I  informed  them  that  I  had 
begun  to  learn  the  Latin  language.  With  a  beaming 
face  my  father  pointed  out  how  glorious  a  future  was 
prepared  for  me.  He  had  been  thinking,  so  he  said, 
about  the  various  positions  I  might  occupy  when  I 
could  show  the  rulers  my  capacity.  He  recognized, 
he  said,  that  Latin  was  not  everything,  and  that  a 
fellow  who  was  very  skilful  in  it  might  yet  be  debarred 
by  the  authorities,  deservedly  debarred,  from  reaching 
posts  of  honor  and  of  profit.  Other  qualities  were 
doubtless  necessary,  also,  for  advancement — how  could 
he  say  what  they  were  since  he  was  nothing  but  a 
simple  breeder  of  the  fighting-cocks?  But  if  the  people 
once  perceived  that  I  had  learned  this  famous  language 
they  would  know  that  I  could  learn  the  other  things. 

"And  anyhow,"  my  mother  said,  "he  will  be  able 
then  to  comprehend  all  that  the  priest  says." 

"Pues!"  said  my  father  in  disdain,  "that  will  not 
advance  him  very  far." 

"It  will  advance  him  surely  into  heaven,"  said  my 
mother. 

But  my  father  snorted.  "Touching  Don  Arcadio, 
the  Noahcite,"  said  he,  "there  is  a  customer  of  mine 
who  was  here  from  Jalapa  yesterday.  This  doctor, 
for  he  is  a  doctor,  used  to  know  him  very  well,  but 
now  they  are  no  longer  friends.    Of  course,  the  first 


126    THE  HOUSE  OF  THE  FIGHTING-COCKS 

thing  that  I  asked  was  on  the  subject  of  your  Don 
Arcadio,  and  very  willingly  the  doctor  told  me,  though 
I  could  observe  that  he  was  longing  to  consult  with 
me  about  his  fighting-cocks,  and  I  myself  was  anxious 
he  should  buy  a  very  good  one,  called  El  Chino,  which 
will  fight  in  such  a  way  that  ladies  will  throw  flowers 
from  their  boxes,  yes,  and  diamonds." 

I  had  to  interrupt.  "O  little  father,"  I  complained, 
"do  you  think  I  could  forget  El  Chino?  I  have  not 
forgotten  one,  not  one  of  them." 

''Son  of  my  soul,"  said  he,  "but  I  was  going  to  say 
that  both  the  doctor  and  myself  were  eager  to  converse 
about  our  business,  yet  we  spoke  of  Don  Arcadio. 
It  seems  that  he  belonged  to  one  of  the  most  rich  and 
reputable  families;  his  father  was  a  gallant  of  his 
own  time,  and  in  later  years  a  brother  of  your  gen- 
tleman was  in  the  forefront  of  Jalapa's  aristocracy, 
a  comrade  of  the  doctor's  at  the  cock-pit.  Don  Ar- 
cadio, on  the  other  hand,  was  always  odd — a  man  who 
had  his  own  ideas  on  everything.  The  strangest  part 
of  it  was  that  he  lived  in  the  great  house  of  Corpus 
Christi  Street  and  moved  about  Jalapa,  when  he  really 
should  have  gone  to  dwell  in  some  remote  farm  of 
his  family  or  else  have  made  himself  a  hermitage 
among  the  mountains.  Everybody  would  have  been 
more  comfortable.  He  would  sometimes  loiter  in  the 
plaza,  just  like  any  Christian,  but  if  you  addressed 
him,  talking  of  the  latest  news,  he  would  not  speak 
of  it  like  other  men,  and  therefore  it  was  natural  that 
they  avoided  him.  He  did  not  wish  to  be  avoided,  but 
it  came  about  and  more  and  more.  To  see  him  wan- 
dering up  and  down  was  very  sad,  and,  since  he  would 
not  lead  the  pleasant  life,  they  wanted  to  persuade  him 
to  fill  any  of  the  posts  such  as  are  suitable  to  gentle- 
men of  his  position.    He  refused.    He  would  not,  for 


THE  HOUSE  OF  THE  FIGHTING-COCKS     127 

example,  be  a  magistrate,  because  he  said  that  dealing 
justice  out  to  men  was  an  iniquity,  for  justice  was  a 
cold,  repulsive  thing.  He  would  not  even  change  his 
attitude  when  they  reminded  him  that  justice  is  ad- 
ministered by  God  and  therefore  it  is  something 
sacred," 

"And,"  said  my  mother,  with  determination,  "it  will 
not  be  cold  for  him.  Amen.  He  will  be  thrust  into 
the  fiery  torment." 

"Guadalupe,"  said  my  father — he  was  quite  indig- 
nant— "you  know  very  well  that  if  he  were  a  man  of 
that  sort  I  would  not  permit  our  Juanito  to  be  with 
him." 

But  my  mother  had  some  more  to  say.  "How  can 
I  tell?  You  do  with  Juanito  what  you  like  and  I  am 
nothing,  I  am  pitiful,  I  am  as  a  wounded  cock  who 
asks  for  cacao.  So  it  is,  and  I — I,"  she  was  nearly 
breaking  down,  "what  am  I?  For  a  long  time  you 
have  looked  through  to  the  other  side  of  me  and  you 
have  asked  for  nothing,  not  for  my  advice  and  not 
for  my  attention,  not  for  love." 

"You  are  the  pearl  of  women,"  said  my  father,  "but 
you  are  a  woman  and  in  great  confusion,  like  the 
negroes'  banquet.  I  will  talk  of  all  those  things  an- 
other time.  But  now  it  is  of  Don  Arcadio  who  would 
not  be  a  magistrate.  They  told  him,  as  I  said,  that 
justice  is  administered  by  God,  and  he  replied  that, 
whether  justice  is  a  benefit  or  not,  he  doubted  if  it 
was  administered  in  heaven,  seeing  that  on  earth  God 
did  not  deal  in  it.  And  anyhow,  he  would  not  be  a 
magistrate." 

"He  is  a  sacrilegious  criminal !  Oh,  I  should  like  to 
see  him,"  said  my  mother,  "when  he  is  in  that  place 
where  God  puts  them." 

"Since  he  would  not  be  a  magistrate  nor  any  other 


128    THE  HOUSE  OF  THE  FIGHTING-COCKS 

thing  they  offered,  he  was  thrown  upon  himself,  said 
my  customer,  and  he  was  very  grave  and  serious. 
He  came  far  less  into  the  streets,  and  when  he  did 
come  there  was  only  one  man  who  could  make  him 
laugh,  a  man  who  sold  him  tickets  for  the  lottery. 
They  used  to  chase  each  other  round  the  streets,  for 
they  had  some  old  game  together  which  they  very 
much  enjoyed,  and  then  he  took  this  man  into  his 
house  to  be  his  servant.  Less  and  less  they  saw  him 
in  the  town,  and  when  he  did  go  out  he  scarcely  looked 
up  from  his  feet,  and  he  was  working  for  the  happiness 
of  every  one!  .  .  .  My  customer  is  absolutely  sure 
of  it.  There  was  this  lonely  gentleman  at  work  all 
through  the  day  with  books  and  books.  You,  Guada- 
lupe, have  not  traveled,  and  you  do  not  know  that 
everywhere  about  the  world  are  gentlemen  who  have 
no  other  occupation  than  to  sit  with  books  in  front 
of  them,  because  it  gives  them  pleasure.  But  this 
Don  Arcadio  is  the  only  person  of  the  world,  so  says 
my  customer,  who  does  all  this  in  order  to  give  other 
people  pleasure.  When  the  day  arrives  and  he  knows 
everything  he  will  himself  be  happy,  for  he  says  that 
happiness  can  only  come  in  that  way." 

My  father  paused.  He  looked  as  if  this  exposition 
had  been  a  great  strain  upon  him.  And  he  did  not 
want  my  mother  to  say  anything  at  all,  for  he  was 
anxious  to  collect  his  thoughts  so  that  he  could  con- 
tinue. She,  for  her  part,  wanted  to  say  something, 
since  she  was  completely  hostile  to  the  Noahcite.  She 
felt  it  in  her  inmost  being  that  he  was  a  wicked  and 
perverted  man,  but  she  had  never  come  in  contact 
with  a  person  of  this  kind  before.  She  felt  like  one 
who,  with  a  sword,  has  to  destroy  a  pestilential  mist. 
...  I  wondered,  looking  at  their  very  troubled  faces, 
whether  it  would  first  be  she  or  first  my  father  who 


THE  HOUSE  OF  THE  FIGHTING-COCKS     129 

would  speak.    How  they  were  watching  one  another! 

Then  my  father  said  again  that  when  the  day 
arrived  and  Don  Arcadio  knew  everything  he  would 
be  happy,  for  he  said  that  happiness  could  only  come 
in  that  way. 

"He  is  one  of  the  crowned  devils,"  said  my  mother. 

But  my  father  went  on  sturdily:  "And  after  he 
possesses  happiness  he  will  distribute  it  among  us  all. 
And  we  shall  all  of  us  be  happy.  You,"  he  said,  in  a 
severe  tone  to  my  mother,  "you  must  be  ashamed  of 
speaking  in  that  fashion  of  so  great  a  benefactor. 
Think  of  it!  When  every  one  is  like  a  day  of  fes- 
tival!" 

"O  FuchiV^  cried  my  mother.  "How  shall  anybody 
make  me  happy  if  I  have  a  husband  such  as  you?" 

"He  will  have  thought  of  everything,"  said  my 
father.  "He  is  very  great  and  we  shall  have  to  build 
him  one  or  two  triumphal  arches  decked  with  flowers. 
He  is  called  the  Noahcite  because  he  follows  Noah, 
and  when  he  has  in  his  own  head  what  was  in  the 
head  of  Noah  there  will  then  be  nothing  he  has  still 
to  learn.  .  .  .  But  all  these  things  are  not  for  you  or 
me  to  question.  We  are  nothing,  and  I  tell  you, 
Guadalupe,  that  one  should  be  filled  with  gratitude  if 
our  son  Juanito  has  the  privilege  of  living  near  this 
mighty  man.  Come,"  and  he  embraced  her,  "let  us 
cease  to  quarrel.  We  are  nothing.  I  confess  to  you, 
dear  woman,  that  I  do  not  understand  it  all,  nor 
does  my  customer,  for  when  I  asked  him  how  it  is 
that  Don  Arcadio  will  get  his  happiness  through  know- 
ing everything  he  said  he  was  uncertain.  Who  are 
we  to  try  to  seek  how  such  a  man  does  this  or  that?" 

My  mother  had  been  plainly  touched.  "There  is 
but  one  thing,  Father  Pedro,"  she  avowed,  "which 
weighs  on  me,  and  it  is  this,  that  Noah  is  a  sacred 


I30    THE  HOUSE  OF  THE  FIGHTING-COCKS 

person  of  the  Church,  and  it  is  contrary  to  order  for  a 
man  to  make  himself  like  that.  And  also  if  the  rage 
of  God  does  not  descend  upon  him  for  his  pride,  it 
may  be  that  the  rage  of  men  will  take  him,  even  as  it 
took  that  mountebank  who  stood  up  in  the  market- 
place and  said  there  is  no  God,  inviting  God  to  kill 
him  if  it  was  not  so.  He  stood  there,  the  most  im- 
pious person,  with  his  head  thrown  back  and  'Ca!' 
said  he,  for  he  exulted.  'God,'  said  he,  'thou  dost  not 
kill  me.'  'No,'  said  the  inhabitants,  'but  we  do.'  And 
they  did.  ...  I  fear  that  if  this  happens  to  the 
man  who  makes  himself  like  Noah,  it  may  not  be  well 
for  Juanito  to  be  living  near  him.  If  the  people  set 
his  house  on  fire  and  slay  our  Juanito,  what  shall  we 
do  then?"  said  she. 

But  with  a  little  gentle  reasoning  my  father  made 
her  understand  that  the  two  cases  were  not  on  a  level, 
since  the  mountebank  had  boasted  that  there  is  no 
God,  and  Don  Arcadio,  on  the  other  hand,  maintained 
that  Noah  had  existed  and  was  good  to  imitate. 
Thereby,  my  father  said,  he  would  not  cause  offense 
to  any  one  in  Mexico,  except  if  there  was  any  one  who 
was  an  anti-Noahcite.  Undoubtedly,  somewhere  in 
Mexico  there  would  be  found  a  man  with  these  opin- 
ions, for  we  loved,  my  father  said,  to  be  against 
all  men  whatever.  That  was  why  the  country  rolled 
from  turmoil  into  turmoil.  Not  a  single  man  could 
hold  authority,  but  there  would  be  rebellion  against 
him.  And  above  Jalapa,  in  the  dreary  region  of  Mai 
Pais,  or  upon  the  plains  of  dust  and  wind  and  cactus 
there  would  probably  be  some  one  who  was  so  embit- 
tered against  all  the  leaders,  dead  and  living,  whether 
Mexican  or  foreign,  whether  on  the  land  or  on  the 
water,  that  he  would  be  solidly  opposed  to  Noah  and 
to  Noahcites. 


THE  HOUSE  OF  THE  FIGHTING-COCKS     131 

"Such  a  man,"  my  mother  said,  "is  dangerous." 

"You  are  the  pearl  of  women,"  said  my  father, 
whose  whole  countenance  was  like  a  hymn  of  grati- 
tude for  life.  "But  you  forget  that  these  rebellious 
ones  can  luckily  be  bought,  and  if  a  General  who  has 
not  much  money  can  obtain,  as  they  have  done  ere 
now,  the  whole  insurgent  army,  or  if  the  insurgent 
army  in  the  same  way  can  acquire  the  General's,  do 
you  think  it  would  be  difficult  for  Don  Arcadio,  who 
is  wealthy,  to  win  over  this  one  man?" 

"Ah,  well,"  said  my  mother,  "you  look  very  pleased 
and  full  of  confidence.  And  you  know  much  more  of 
the  world  than  I  do." 

Thus  it  came  about  that  my  return  to  Don  Arcadio's 
was  agreed  upon.  And  for  a  few  days,  while  I  waited 
there  for  Senor  Bias,  I  was  a  sort  of  hero  in  my  village. 
Old  and  young,  they  knew  that  in  Jalapa  I  was  being 
changed  into  another  kind  of  person,  and  although 
I  loved  them  and  although  they  wished  me  all  the 
good  one  can  imagine,  yet  I  could  not  keep  myself 
from  longing  for  the  coach  of  Senor  Bias.  A  little 
time  before  I  had  been  wont  to  play  with  Colorado's 
other  boys  on  sultry  afternoons  when  it  was  irksome 
to  wear  any  clothes.  We  were  as  happy  as  the  hours 
were  long,  and  none  of  them  would  ever  make  the 
least  remark  about  me  living  in  the  house  with  the 
veranda,  nor  would  any  one  reproach  me  with  the 
fact  that  I  could  read.  But  now  I  shrank  from  playing 
with  my  clothes  removed,  and  there  was  something 
else  which  separated  me  from  my  dear  comrades. 


CHAPTER  XI 

Throughout  the  few  days  that  I  spent  at  Colorado 
I  was  always  being  asked  to  talk  about  my  travels,  and 
among  the  people  who  insisted  most  was  Enriqueta, 
the  gay  wanton.  But  she  did  not  join  the  others  when 
they  questioned  me;  she  seized  her  opportunities  when 
I  was  by  myself,  and  once,  although  I  did  not  like 
her,  she  persuaded  me  to  walk  with  her  into  the  neigh- 
boring wood,  and  there  we  sat  among  the  ferns  while 
I  began  again  to  tell  exactly  what  had  happened  to 
me.  But  she  let  me  go  no  further  than  to  the  lieu- 
tenant's coming  on  the  horse,  with  sweet  Maria  at 
the  back  of  him.  How  the  lieutenant  looked,  and 
what  he  said  and  what  he  did — all  this  she  urged  me 
to  describe,  not  once  but  several  times.  And  she 
wished  heartily  that  I  had  not  lost  sight  of  him  up  at 
Jalapa.  But  the  fact  remained  that  he  was  there  and 
she  confided  with  me  that  this  was  no  life  in  Colorado, 
and  that  she  had  settled  not  to  stay  there.  By  some 
way  or  other,  even  if  she  had  to  walk,  she  would  go 
traveling  at  last,  and,  namely,  to  Jalapa.  There  had 
been  an  hour  ago,  she  told  me,  the  most  disagreeable 
events  inside  the  shop,  between  herself,  Gonzalez,  and 
the  aged  Captain.  By  the  time  of  our  return,  she 
said,  there  would  be  no  one  in  all  Colorado  who  would 
not  be  able  to  repeat  each  word  of  that  unpleasant 
scene.  How  could  one  live  in  such  a  place,  where 
nothing  could  remain  your  own? 

Apparently,  she  had  employed  the  hour  of  the  siesta 
to  inform  Gonzalez  of  her  resolution.  And  the  Cap- 
tain was  downstairs  outside  the  shop,  because — poor, 

132 


THE  HOUSE  OF  THE  FIGHTING-COCKS     133 

faithful  fool,  she  said — he  then  could  listen  to  her 
voice  and  not  be  seen  by  her.  She  had  most  amicably 
told  Gonzalez  that  if  he  desired  to  go  with  her  she 
would  be  pleased,  and  he,  of  course,  had  answered  by 
abusing  her  most  harshly,  for  he  could  not  thus  aban- 
don Colorado  and  the  shop.  Their  argument  became 
so  heated  that  the  Captain  down  below  feared  that  a 
murder  would  be  done;  he  did  not  stop  to  calculate 
the  peril  to  himself,  but  rushed  into  the  house  and  to 
the  room  of  the  siesta. 

"I  laughed  so  much  to  see  him  there,"  said  En- 
riqueta,  "that  Gonzalez  grew  more  angry  still.  But 
afterwards  he  was  for  letting  the  old  Captain  hear 
about  my  perfidy,  and  then  the  Captain,  as  a  military 
cavalier,  should  give  us  his  opinion.  Well,  it  was 
Gonzalez  who  related  the  affair,  and  I  put  in  a  word 
from  time  to  time,  and  at  the  end  of  it  all  old  Bartolme 
said  stoutly  that  I  had  the  right  on  my  side,  for  it  was 
an  arrant  cruelty  to  keep  a  woman  such  as  me  in 
Colorado.  .  .  .  'Oh,  you  scoundrel,'  cried  Gonzalez, 
'did  you  never  keep  her  in  your  own  most  miserable 
cottage?' 

"Angela  Maria!  You  should  have  beheld  the  Cap- 
tain. It  was  beautiful,  the  way  in  which  his  body 
stiffened.  He  was  filled  with  anger,  but  he  was  ex- 
tremely calm,  he  was  majestic.  And  he  said  that  if 
he  had  done  wrong  in  days  now  past,  he  thanked  the 
holy  saints  that  he  could  recognize  it  and  acknowledge 
it,  whereas  Gonzalez  was  an  unrepentant  sinner.  .  .  . 
But  Gonzalez  sneered  that  if  one  is  a  weak  old  man, 
one  frequently  repents.  He  sat  upon  our  bed,  his 
feet  were  dangling  to  and  fro.  And  sneeringly  he  said 
he  would  advise  the  Captain  to  behave  like  those  small 
birds,  the  huitzitzilin,  who  sleep  all  through  the  winter, 
a  most  prudent  action  if  one's  blood  is  cold. 


134    THE  HOUSE  OF  THE  FIGHTING-COCKS 

"Oh,  yes,  you  should  have  seen  Don  Bartolme.  I 
never  thought  that  he  could  be  so  grand.  He  tossed 
his  gray  old  head  and  then  he  smiled  at  me.  .  .  .  And 
I  was  sorry  I  was  lying  on  the  bed. 

"Gonzalez  had  not  finished  even  then.  'I  see,'  he 
said,  'the  pretty  little  huitzitzilin  does  not  interest 
your  lordship.  It  has  very  handsome  plumage  and 
it  sleeps,  as  I  have  said,  in  winter  time;  but  almost 
as  convenient,  you  will  agree,  is  the  peculiarity  of 
living  on  the  very  smallest  quantity  of  food.  I  hear 
it  can  maintain  itself  upon  the  dew  inside  a  flower,' 

"This  was  too  much  for  the  Captain.  'You — you 
— you  would  keep  my  darling  Enriqueta  here,'  he 
shouted,  'when  she  wants  to  run  away  from  her  op- 
pressor. And  if  I  from  time  to  time  am  forced  to  beg 
a  little  food,  it  is  not  from  your  hands  that  I  would 
take  it.    No,  not  even  if  I  were  to  starve.' 

"As  he  was  saying  this  I  rolled  off  from  the  bed 
and  stood  up  next  to  him.  Gonzalez  looked  at  us. 
He  did  not  yet  see  that  he  had  been  conquered. 

"But  I  told  him  in  the  plainest  manner  that  I  must 
go  to  Jalapa.  And  he  suddenly  became  so  furious  that 
he  could  say  no  word. 

"Don  Bartolme  was  thinking  still  about  the  ques- 
tion of  the  food.  'I  hope,'  he  said,  'the  day  will  come 
for  you  when  you  will  have  a  thin,  thin  broth  and 
you  will  hope  to  catch  some  solid  morsel  in  it,  and 
you  will  not  have  Saint  Peter's  luck,  who  fished  all 
night  in  vain  till  Jesus  Christ  assisted  him.' 

"I  put  my  hand  on  that  of  the  old  Captain.  How 
he  trembled!  And  I  told  Gonzalez  that  although  I 
must  depart  I  had  some  gratitude,  and  I  would  always 
think  of  him  with  kindliness. 

"He  looked  as  if  he  certainly  would  choke. 

"And  then  old  Bartolme  informed  him  that  he  would 


THE  HOUSE  OF  THE  FIGHTING-COCKS     135 

accompany  me  anywhere,  wherever  I  might  go.  He 
squeezed  my  hand  most  violently. 

"Well,  my  little  friend,  I  will  admit  to  you  that  it 
displeases  me  to  think  of  this  old  man  beside  me  on 
the  journey  and  beside  me  always  at  Jalapa.  What 
am  I  to  do?  Oh,  may  he  stand  there  whistling  on  the 
hill.  .  .  .  Now  tell  me  something  more  of  the  lieu- 
tenant." 

We  remained  a  very  long  time  in  the  wood,  for 
after  I  had  told  her  all  I  knew,  which  was  not  much, 
of  the  lieutenant,  and  of  Don  Arcadio  and  Faustino 
and  Jalapa  generally,  and  then  again  of  the  lieutenant, 
she  lay  back  among  the  ferns  and  thought  about  the 
future,  sometimes  silently,  then  uttering  a  word  or 
two,  then  jerking  little  laughs  into  the  air.  How  long 
we  stopped  I  cannot  tell,  but  we  might  have  remained 
until  the  evening  if  there  had  not  been  a  voice,  the 
voice  of  the  old  Captain,  far  away  among  the  trees. 
I  thought  that  Enriqueta,  after  what  she  had  been 
saying  of  the  Captain,  would  be  angry  or  would  stop 
her  ears;  but  how  much  did  I  know  of  women?  She 
arose  and  took  me  by  the  arm  and  rapidly  we  went 
towards  the  voice;  but  Enriqueta  saw  to  it  that  we 
did  not  emerge  into  the  open.  And  at  last  we  found 
ourselves  among  such  lofty  ferns  that  I  could  scarcely 
walk.  Don  Bartolme  was  not  far  off.  We  crouched 
behind  those  ferns  and  waited  there.  And  when  he 
did  go  past  he  was  the  strangest  sight:  he  was  flourish- 
ing his  ancient  sword  and  cutting  off  a  leafy  branch 
or  else  a  fern,  just  as  the  fancy  seized  him.  He  was 
happy  to  excess.  His  age  and  poverty  and  other  ail- 
ments he  had  quite  forgotten.  He  was  tramping 
through  the  wood  as  if  the  gods  had  turned  him  into 
a  young,  merry  boy. 

And  Enriqueta,  after  he  had  gone,  said  she  had 


136    THE  HOUSE  OF  THE  FIGHTING-COCKS 

changed  her  mind,  and  that  it  must  be  so  and  that 
she  would  permit  him  to  escort  her  on  the  journey. 
"After  all,"  she  said,  "he  loves  me.  He  will  be  my 
slave." 

The  Captain  did  go  with  her  and  on  foot  a  few  days 
after  this,  when  she  had  made  her  preparations.  I, 
for  my  part,  had  to  leave  quite  suddenly  on  the  next 
morning — Senor  Bias  came  back  much  earlier  than 
usual.  And  so  there  was  no  time  for  me  to  say  fare- 
well to  every  one.  My  parents  and  some  others  who 
were  loitering  about  the  coach  embraced  me,  and  I 
drove  away,  not  even  knowing  whether  Enriqueta  had 
gone  back  to  spend  her  last  days  with  Gonzalez. 

We  arrived  in  good  time  at  Jalapa;  and,  although 
my  friend  and  benefactor  of  the  sweetmeats  stopped 
me  for  a  moment  as  I  climbed  off  from  the  coach,  I 
very  soon  was  rushing  down  the  Corpus  Christi  Street. 
The  big  door  at  the  house  of  Don  Arcadio  was  shut, 
I  ran  round  to  the  back  and  through  the  passage,  up 
the  stairs,  and  to  the  room  in  which  I  hoped  to  find 
Maria.  But  she  was  not  there,  nor  was  my  master. 
And  I  will  confess  that  I  had  ugly,  very  dark  and  ugly 
thoughts.  ...  I  wished  the  room  would  fall  on  me 
and  bury  me.  .  .  .  Then  I  was  on  the  staircase,  I  was 
in  the  yard,  and  with  a  whirling  head  I  passed  on,  on 
into  the  room  above  the  stable.  In  the  room  I  found 
my  master;  he  was  sitting  with  some  open  books 
spread  out  before  him,  and  upon  his  face  the  most 
benign  expression  in  the  world. 

He  welcomed  me  with  all  his  heart.  He  saw  that 
I  was  very  much  perturbed  and  this,  he  thought,  was 
owing  to  my  coming  back  to  him.  So  tenderly  he 
spoke,  and  in  my  breast  I  felt  as  if  there  was  a  battle 
raging.  When  he  asked  about  my  parents,  I  am  not 
sure  what  I  answered,  and  I  certainly  could  not  control 


THE  HOUSE  OF  THE  FIGHTING-COCKS     137 

myself  enough  to  tell  him  of  the  plans  of  Enriqueta 
and  the  Captain. 

"It  would  make  you  tranquil,"  Don  Eugenio  said, 
"if  you  could  read  with  me  this  part  of  Bacon's  man- 
uscript. I  ask  for  nothing  better  than  to  make  an- 
other voyage  through  this  part.  It  is  indeed  a  voyage ! 
You  may  recollect,  my  son,  that  when  this  manuscript 
was  placed  before  me  I  was  not  enthusiastic.  Well, 
I  have  discovered  that  this  Bacon  is  am.ong  the  blessed 
writers  who  adorn  their  subject  in  a  thousand  ways, 
no  matter  what  the  subject  be." 

Then  he  discoursed  with  fire  and  passion  on  the 
splendid  merits  of  the  doctor  mirabilis.  But  I  could 
only  hear  quite  vaguely  what  he  said,  for  I  was  think- 
ing of  Maria  and  the  window  where  I  last  had  seen 
her,  and  the  sloping  fields  outside  Jalapa  where  we 
two  had  wandered  in  the  dark. 

Don  Eugenio  paused,  and  then  I  asked  him  whether 
beautiful  young  girls  are  sometimes  killed  by  their  old 
lovers,  even  if  the  lover  has  got  no  suspicion  that  she 
has  been  faithless.  And  my  master,  who  was  always 
ready  to  pour  out  for  me  his  miscellaneous  knowledge, 
did  not  waste  a  moment,  as  so  many  others  would 
have  done,  in  asking  me  how  I  connected  this  new  topic 
with  the  observations  he  had  been  engaged  in  making. 

"Juanito,"  so  he  said,  "I  am  not  sorry  that  you 
have  begun  to  speculate  about  some  of  the  problems 
that  we  human  beings  have  to  face.  How  this  one 
came  into  your  mind  I  do  not  know,  but  nothing  is 
more  certain  than  the  lack  of  reason  in  old  lovers,  and 
in  young  ones.  You  were  thinking  of  the  old,  how- 
ever, and  I  can  inform  you  of  a  case  with  which  I 
was  myself  concerned.  At  any  rate  my  bishop,  whom 
I  speak  of,  as  you  know,  with  very  deep  respect,  com- 
manded me  to  write  a  long,  didactic  poem  on  a  trial 


138    THE  HOUSE  OF  THE  FIGHTING-COCKS 

that  was  heard  before  the  Holy  Office  many  years  ago, 
at  Zaragoza.  In  a  neighboring  country  district  there 
had  dwelt  an  old  man  of  position,  and  his  young  wife, 
who  was  marvelously  beautiful.  She  had,  to  mention 
only  two  things,  golden  hair  and  eyes  of  jet — no  girl 
was  like  her  in  the  kingdom.  But  the  husband  was 
as  jealous  as  a  man  can  be;  although  he  watched  her 
and  his  servants  watched  her  very  carefully,  they  never 
could  detect  her  in  the  slightest  sin.  And  so  he  grad- 
ually came  to  loathe  his  young  wife  and  her  golden 
hair.  He  asked  the  local  priest  how  he  could  catch 
the  girl,  since  she  was  far  too  clever  for  him,  and 
the  priest  was  friendly  with  a  man  called  Valdes,  a 
familiar  of  the  Inquisition.  This  official  said  at  once 
that  if  the  woman  was  too  clever  she  was  certainly 
a  witch,  as  had  been  laid  down  by  the  good  Athera- 
goras,  by  Minucius  Felix  (who,  by  the  way,  was  an 
accomplished  person,  but  was  not  the  author  of  the 
Contra  Mathematkos)  and  by  Tertullian  in  the  twenty- 
second  chapter  of  his  Apology.  And  if  she  was  a 
witch,  she  ought,  said  Valdes,  to  be  rigorously  pros- 
ecuted. At  the  trial,  nothing  could  be  proved  against 
her;  she  did  not  appear  to  have  partaken  of  unhal- 
lowed pleasures  or  to  have  used  incantations  so  that 
wolves  could  do  no  harm,  or  to  have  brought  a  toad 
into  the  world.  She  was,  in  fact,  no  witch,  and  she 
was  slain  because  of  her  uncommon  cleverness.  .  .  . 
That  was  the  subject  of  the  poem  which  I  wrote,  if 
I  may  say  so,  in  a  meter  that  was  most  appropriate 
to  the  argument.  My  manuscript  was  bound  up,  by 
the  bishop's  order,  in  a  pale  brown  calf  which  had 
been  decorated  with  his  arms  and  with  a  pattern  of 
gold  tears.  He  placed  the  book  upon  his  shelves  and 
there,  so  far  as  I  know,  it  remains." 
No  longer  was  Maria's  face  the  solitary,  all-absorb- 


THE  HOUSE  OF  THE  FIGHTING-COCKS     139 

ing  question  for  me.  I  demanded  of  my  master  if  the 
husband  also  was  rigorously  prosecuted. 

And  he  said  that  he  had  every  reason  to  believe  it. 
"Though  we  found  no  further  record  of  the  fellow  than 
was  in  the  trial,  and  though  it  may  often  seem  to  us, 
dear  Juanito,  that  unrighteous  men  escape  their  pun- 
ishment and  even  flourish  in  the  most  repulsive  man- 
ner, yet,  my  son,  I  cling  in  many  things  to  the  re- 
ligion of  my  fathers;  and  it  tells  me  that  the  wicked 
go  into  Gehenna  or  into  the  state  which  has  been 
variously  known  as  that  of  outer  darkness,  of  un- 
quenchable fire,  of  the  undying  worm,  of  eternal  de- 
struction, of  the  weeping  and  gnashing  of  teeth  or  of 
the  second  death.  I  hope,  my  son,  that  even  if  in  after- 
life you  should  have  doubts  concerning  one  dogma 
or  another,  yet  that  you  will  manage  to  retain  your 
faith  in  all  or  some  of  these  dire  punishments.  It  will 
enable  you  to  be  more  placid  and  more  patient  in 
your  intercourse  with  those  who  seem  to  be  unduly 
prosperous." 

My  dear  master  went  on  talking  for  a  time  in  this 
way,  until  of  a  sudden,  very  breathlessly,  Maria  burst 
into  the  room.  She  smiled  at  me,  but  then  began  at 
once  to  tell  us  of  a  scene  which  she  had  witnessed. 
There  had  been  a  noise  of  lamentation  so  prolonged, 
she  said,  from  Don  Arcadio's  library  that  she  went 
in;  and  there  she  found  Faustino  weeping  and  the 
Noahcite  endeavoring  to  comfort  him.  She  said  the 
Noahcite  was  weeping  also,  but  the  reason  of  it  all, 
she  could  not  guess.  And  would  not  Don  Eugenio  go 
there  to  help  them? 

He  half  rose  and  then  sat  down  again.  He  asked' 
Maria  if  they  had  observed  her  entrance. 

"They  looked  at  me  and  went  on  crying  just  the 
same,"  she  said. 


I40    THE  HOUSE  OF  THE  FIGHTING-COCKS 

My  dear  master  frowned  a  little.  "I  am  out  of 
sympathy,"  said  he,  "with  people  who  rush  in  with 
words  of  consolation.  It  is  only  in  the  moments  of 
profoundest  grief,  Maria,  that  the  large  proportion 
of  mankind  see  through  the  mist  of  things  that  so 
continuously  whirl  about  them.  Is  not  such  a  grief 
the  most  sublime  and  sacred  temple  we  can  ever  build, 
Maria,  and  the  people  with  their  consolation  are  like 
dead  leaves  blown  into  the  temple?  He  who  is  within 
is  face  to  face  with  life,  as  he  may  never  be  again, 
and  those  who  interrupt  with  the  most  beautiful  of 
consolations  are  dead  leaves  to  him,  dead  leaves. 
However  ..." 

He  sat  there  rubbing  his  chin. 

"Oh,  no,"  said  Maria,  very  earnestly,  "I  never  spoke 
a  word." 

Don  Eugenio  was  ruminating.  "On  the  other  hand," 
he  murmured,  "is  it  not  more  likely  that  their  sorrow 
is  an  ordinary  one  and  due,  perhaps,  to  some  unfortu- 
nate misunderstanding.  And  in  that  case  one  wise 
word  may  be  all  that  is  needed." 

"If  you  like,"  Maria  said,  "I  will  go  down  and  speak 
to  them." 

But  Don  Eugenio  said  that  he  would  go  himself. 
And  as  he  made  his  way  down  from  our  room,  we 
others  followed  him  and  he  did  not  object.  He  went 
down  to  the  yard,  where  one  could  hear  the  usual  few 
noises  of  the  town.  And  even  in  the  house  1  could 
myself  hear  nothing  of  that  lamentation.  There  was 
no  sound  save  our  feet  upon  the  floor  of  stone.  Out- 
side the  library  my  master  listened  for  a  short  time; 
then  he  knocked,  and  Don  Arcadio's  voice  called  out, 
a  little  shakily,  and  asked  him  to  go  in. 

And  there  inside  the  room  was  Don  Arcadio  stand- 
ing up  behind  a  chair  in  which  Faustino  sat.     The 


THE  HOUSE  OF  THE  FIGHTING-COCKS     141 

body  of  Faustino  was  all  huddled  up;  he  took  no 
notice  of  us,  and  not  even  when  my  master  strode 
towards  him.    I  remained,  so  did  Maria,  at  the  door. 

Then  Don  Arcadio  smiled  most  sadly  and  most 
sweetly  on  my  master.  "My  dear  friend,"  quoth  he, 
"you  come  at  the  good  hour.  If  you  can  help  me 
with  Faustino!     He  insists  on  leaving  me." 

"Come  now,"  said  Don  Eugenio  to  the  prostrate 
one,  as  he  sat  down  beside  him,  "have  you  torn  a 
precious  book  or  had  some  other  accident?  See,  Don 
Arcadio  forgives  you,  and  he  wants  you  to  forgive 
yourself  as  quickly  as  he  will  forget." 

But  that  was  not  the  cause  of  the  disturbance. 
Don  Arcadio  explained  that  he  by  chance  had  men- 
tioned to  Faustino  that  he  might  be  able  to  extend  the 
lives  of  both  of  them  considerably.  The  power  to 
do  this,  Don  Arcadio  said,  had  been  alleged  to  lie 
in  liquid  gold,  which  was  the  substance  he  was  occu- 
pied just  then,  said  he,  in  thoroughly  investigating. 
He  refrained  from  an  opinion  on  the  efficacy  of  this 
liquid  gold,  but  he  would  make  experiments.  And 
that  was  why  Faustino  was  distressed,  for  it  appeared 
to  him  unholy  for  a  man  to  meddle  with  the  length 
of  his  own  life,  and  if  his  master  would  persist  in 
such  experiments  then  he  would  have  to  go  away. 

"Well,  if  your  master  fails  in  his  experiment,"  said 
Don  Eugenio,  "then  presumably  you  will  not  have  to 
leave  him?  And  he  will  not  look  upon  it  as  disloyal, 
I  am  sure,  if  you  do  not  assume  beforehand  that  his 
act  will  be  successful.  Come,  Faustino,  you  are  not 
impetuous  by  nature,  and  it  seems  to  me  this  is  en- 
tirely an  occasion  for  delay." 

Faustino  gazed  in  a  dull  fashion  both  at  Don 
Eugenio  and  his  master. 

"I   am   very   sorry,"   said   the   Noahcite   to  Don 


142    THE  HOUSE  OF  THE  FIGHTING-COCKS 

Eugenio,  "that  this  question  has  arisen,  but  it  is  in- 
cumbent on  me  to  learn  everything  there  is  to  learn 
regarding  all  the  miscellaneous  substances  of  which 
our  earth  is  made.  You  will  agree  that  this  life-giving 
property  of  gold,  if  we  can  prove  it  to  exist,  is  of  no 
small  importance." 

"Oh,  you  need  not  speak  so  modestly,"  said  Don 
Eugenio,  "for  it  is  of  the  highest  possible  importance 
to  detain  the  beauty  of  a  woman.  I  have  read  that 
this,  according  to  Brantome,  did  actually  occur  in  the 
case  of  the  Duchess  of  Valentinois,  who  drank  quan- 
tities of  gold." 

"Pardon  me,"  said  Don  Arcadio,  with  some  dignity, 
"but  I  do  not  claim  to  preserve  mere  beauty.  It  is 
life  that  I  would  keep  from  premature  annihilation." 
And  he  stood  there  like  a  prophet  prophesying  glory. 

My  master  shrugged  his  shoulders.  "I  for  one," 
said  he,  "do  not  think  that  we  should  be  grateful  to 
you  for  extending  life  in  general.  No,  I  should  dis- 
approve of  that." 

Faustino  nodded  vigorously. 

"My  dear  sir,  you  pain  me,"  said  the  Noahcite; 
"I  do  beseech  you  not  to  harbor  views  of  that  sort. 
Why,  they  are  the  views  of  the  police!  They  were, 
at  all  events,  of  the  police  in  Paris  when  Saint-Leger 
brought  about  such  marvelous  cures.  No  doubt  it 
was  ecclesiastics  who  incited  the  repressors;  and  why 
did  they  not  influence  them  somewhat  earlier,  when 
the  good  physician,  in  whose  service  was  Saint-Leger, 
treated  with  such  wonderful  success  the  Emperor 
Rudolf?  Why  did  not  the  Church  and  the  police 
show  their  displeasure  then?" 

"Oho,"  exclaimed  my  master,  "you  will  have  to 
search  through  all  this  town  and  several  others  if  you 
want  to  find  a  man  who  can  reply  to  that!     Apart 


THE  HOUSE  OF  THE  FIGHTING-COCKS     143 

altogether  from  the  Church,  whom  I,  her  most  un- 
worthy son,  may  not  undertake  to  judge,  it  sometimes 
did  appear  to  me  that  likewise  the  police  were  in- 
scrutable. But  I  know  nothing  of  the  Emperor  Rudolf. 
Did  he  do  more  with  his  life  than  the  average  Parisian 
of  the  period?" 

Don  Arcadio  went  over  to  his  large  writing-table, 
he  pulled  out  a  drawer  and  from  it  took  a  piece  of 
gold.  He  held  this  in  his  left  hand,  with  raised  fore- 
finger, and  he  solemnly  moved  backward  and  forward. 
"Don  Eugenio,"  said  he,  "you  are  a  skeptic  as  to  the 
tremendous  powers  of  this.  I  hope  the  day  will  come 
when  this  august  material  will  revenge  itself  upon  you 
very  nobly  by  making  your  life  longer." 

Don  Eugenio  had  a  rueful  smile  upon  his  face.  "If 
I  may  for  a  moment  speak  about  the  ordinary  services 
of  gold,"  said  he,  "then  I  assure  you  that  I  am  no 
sort  of  skeptic.  I  have  always  had  so  little  of  it 
that  perhaps  I  have  esteemed  it  more  than  was  be- 
fitting for  a  student.  Since  I  encountered  Juanito, 
who,  as  you  perceive,  has  happily  returned  to  us,  I 
have  been  promised  by  his  admirable  father  an  emolu- 
ment for  giving  him  some  knowledge  of  the  Latin 
tongue.  He  pays  me  quite  as  much  as  I  shall  earn, 
I  think,  but  it  will  not  enable  me  to  have  a  tranquil 
mind  concerning  this  year  and  the  coming  years,  and 
that  is  also  something  which  befits  a  student  more  than 
other  people," 

"Hombre!"  said  the  Noahcite,  "why  should  you 
agitate  yourself  about  such  trifles?  Any  money  that 
you  want  is  yours.  Let  that  be  understood."  He 
looked  as  if  he  would  prefer  no  more  allusion  to  be 
made  to  money. 

But  my  master  rose — he  was  extremely  serious — •■ 


144    THE  HOUSE  OF  THE  FIGHTING-COCKS 

and  going  over  to  the  Noahcite,  he  put  his  arms  around 
him. 

"It  is  nothing,  it  is  nothing,"  said  the  Noahcite. 

"How  shall  I  thank  you?"  said  my  master,  as  he 
ceased  embracing  Don  Arcadio.  "You  are  my  bene- 
factor. Truly  you  are  one  of  those  whose  gifts  it  is 
not  seemly  to  decline  ...  it  would  be  hindering  the 
sun  from  doing  the  great  work  he  loves.  Oh,  sir,  I 
am  obliged  to  borrow  thoughts  from  the  Arabian 
writers,  for  your  generosity  is  Oriental.  Sir,  my  feel- 
ings overpower  me — but  it  may  seem  strange  to  you 
that  a  philosopher  should  care  for  money." 

"No,  by  no  means,"  said  the  Noahcite,  "for  you 
will  set  out  on  your  travels  when  I  die." 

"My  dear,  good  friend,"  said  Don  Eugenio,  "you 
have  already  given  me  a  roof  to  sleep  under,  a  table 
furnished  with  abundant  meat  and  drink,  a  conver- 
sation which  I  feel  is  perfectly  unique  in  Mexico. 
You  are  indeed  a  bountiful  and  gracious  personage. 
And  what  can  I  do  in  return?  If  I  were  a  great  poet 
you  should  be  immortal.  Woe  is  me!  As  I  have  just 
been  telling  Juanito,  I  was  once  requested  by  my 
patron  the  lord  bishop  of  Zaragoza  to  compose  a 
lengthy  poem  so  that  people  should  remember  a  most 
wicked  man;  but  even  if  that  poem  still  remains  upon 
the  shelves,  I  ask  you — what  has  been  the  good  of  it? 
I  believe  I  used  a  meter  that  was  well  in  keeping  with 
the  lurid  story.  What  has  been  the  good  of  it?  I 
should  not  be  surprised  to  hear  that  nobody  has  ever 
read  my  manuscript.  And  if  I  cannot  cause  a  wicked 
man  to  be  remembered,  how  much  more  profoundly 
shall  I  fail  with  a  man  of  merit?" 

My  poor  master  was  so  downcast. 

But  the  Noahcite  exhorted  him  to  be  more  cheerful. 
In  the  first  place,  he  said,  he  really  did  not  covet 


THE  HOUSE  OF  THE  FIGHTING-COCKS     145 

immortality,  for  he  was  satisfied  with  the  long  years 
that  liquid  gold  would  give  him,  if  indeed  it  had  the 
power.  And  in  the  second  place,  said  Don  Arcadio, 
he  really  had  done  nothing. 

"I  have  an  idea!"  cried  Don  Eugenio.  "Let  me  go 
away  with  Juanito.  In  an  hour  we  shall  come  back 
and  then  .  .  .  !"  He  did  not  wait  for  a  reply,  he 
hurried  towards  me  and  together  he  and  I  went,  almost 
running,  to  our  room  above  the  stable.  When  we  got 
there  he  sat  down  and  made  me  stand  just  at  his  knee. 

''I  am  going  to  copy  out  for  my  dear  benefactor,"  he 
began,  "some  phrases  of  the  Arab  poets  who  once 
used  to  flourish  in  all  parts  of  Spain.  Don  Arcadio's 
lavishness  is  positively  Eastern,  and  he  therefore  may 
appreciate  the  Arab  compliments  that  are  of  great 
luxuriance.  I  sometimes  read  them  in  a  badly-printed 
old  translation  when  I  was  the  servant  of  a  bookstall- 
keeper  in  Madrid.  I  do  not  wish  to  be  sententious, 
but  you  see  from  this  how  profitable  one  may  find 
the  reading  of  remote  and  what  seems  on  the  surface 
to  be  sterile  literature.  Presently  I  shall  recall  the 
phrases,  you  can  put  them  down  in  your  best  writing 
and  our  dear  benefactor  will,  I  hope,  be  grateful. 

"But  first  I  want  to  warn  you,  Juanito,  against  some 
of  his  opinions  and  his  practices.  It  surely  must  be 
wrong  for  any  one  to  try  to  lengthen  human  life  by 
sorcery;  herein  the  man  appears  to  me  a  most  pre- 
sumptuous and  blaspheming  villain.  As  for  the  ad- 
vantages of  keeping  death  at  bay,  I  fear  that  Don 
Arcadio  is  no  true  philosopher,  at  any  rate  he  has  not 
my  philosophy.  .  .  .  There  are  some  people,  Juanito, 
who  assert  that  they  have  looked  at  life  in  a  detached 
and  unimpassioned  way,  have  given  it  their  calm  con- 
sideration and  have  come  to  this  or  that  conclusion. 
They  are  fools!     Or  will  they  say  that  you  can  be 


146    THE  HOUSE  OF  THE  FIGHTING-COCKS 

detached  and  calm  and  unimpassioned  in  the  midst  of 
battle?  It  is  one  gigantic,  rolling  battle.  Well,  we 
do  get  on,  we  do  get  on  and  we  fall  back  again,  God 
grant  that  we  are  moving  forward.  But  in  the  mean- 
time we  live  by  ruin  and  destruction.  I  have  some- 
times thought  that  every  act  of  ours  involves  an 
injury — which  we  may  never  see  nor  hear  of — this  is 
frequently  the  case  when  people  have  accomplished 
their  one  act  of  greatness,  which  is  dying.  Yet  on  the 
whole  we  do  less  harm,  I  think,  when  we  are  dead  than 
when  we  live.  .  .  .  The  more  one  tries  to  lead  a 
worthy  life  the  more  is  one  appalled.  For  instance, 
there  was  an  old  monk  whose  life  had  been  most  saintly 
during  eighty  years,  and  when  the  abbot  came  to  give 
him  the  last  sacraments  he  would  insist  on  kneeling 
though  he  scarcely  could  endure  the  pain;  he  was  in 
such  a  state  of  penitence  and  contrition  that  one  might 
have  thought  him  the  most  guilty  creature  in  the 
world.  His  abbot,  seeing  that  he  was  so  horrified  at 
all  his  sins,  demanded  which  of  them  was  causing  him 
the  sharpest  grief;  he  answered  that  the  sin  of  sins 
had  been  a  lie  which  he  committed  in  his  childhood. 
Thereupon  the  abbot  said  that  little  children  were  in- 
capable of  sinning  greatly,  and  he  charged  him  to 
allow  his  mind  to  be  at  peace.  But  this  the  monk 
refused  to  do;  he  said  that  now  he  had  another  sin 
upon  his  conscience,  the  sin  of  wasting  time,  for  he 
had  confessed  about  the  lie  on  many  hundreds  of 
occasions;  he  had  also  done  severest  penance. 

"Now,"  said  Don  Eugenio,  "let  us  concern  ourselves 
with  those  Arabian  phrases." 

He  walked  up  and  down  the  room  and  told  me  to 
write  very  carefully  what  he  dictated. 


CHAPTER  XII 

For  the  next  few  days  we  worked  most  energetically, 
Don  Eugenio  and  I.  Of  course,  the  help  which  I  could 
render  him  was  limited,  and  very  often  I  was  much 
more  of  a  hindrance.  He  would  give  me  Latin  sen- 
tences to  copy  out  and  learn,  while  he  was  busy  with 
his  digest  of  a  certain  section  of  the  manuscript.  But 
if  amid  the  words  he  gave  me  there  was  one  that 
struck  him,  if  it  was  an  old  friend  or  a  new  one,  he 
would  put  his  manuscript  aside  and  he  would  talk  at 
large  on  any  subjects  that  the  word  brought  up.  You 
who  never  saw  him  with  his  little  black  cap  pushed 
away  from  the  grand  forehead,  while  his  large  and 
ruddy  face,  in  every  part  of  it,  was  grave  and  gay, 
the  shadows  chasing  one  another  as  they  do  across  a 
sunlit  mountain,  and  the  veil  of  haze  which  dances  so 
mysteriously  over  our  blue  mountains  often  seemed  to 
dance  across  the  eyes  of  Don  Eugenio,  you  who  never 
saw  my  master  scarcely  will  be  able  to  imagine  that 
such  various  sentiments — to  me  the  most  sublime  and 
eloquent  and  wise  and  curious  of  all  the  world — could 
issue  from  the  lips  of  one  man.  By  the  way,  I  am  not 
sure  if  I  would  like  you  to  have  known  him;  it  is  as 
though  I  had  a  shrine  in  the  green  forest  which  no 
other  person  can  approach. 

Well,  he  used  to  talk  of  things  which  he  had  seen 
and  done  and  what  he  thought.  I  loved  to  hear  him 
speak  about  his  failures,  which  were  always  made 
against  the  side  I  hated.  Sometimes  he  discussed  what 
he  would  do  if  he  were  Emperor  of  Mexico.    Quantidd 

iA7 


148    THE  HOUSE  OF  THE  FIGHTING-COCKS 

sapientia  gubernatur  mundus!  And  I  fear  that  if  my 
master  had  succeeded  to  some  throne  it  might  have 
been  delightful  for  the  country,  but  he  would  have  been 
assassinated.  So  was  Maximilian,  but  how  different 
was  he!  He  would  have  scarcely  deigned  to  listen  to 
my  master,  for  he  did  not  even  free  the  slaves. 

Sometimes  Don  Eugenio  would  discourse  upon  a 
moral  or  another  topic  and  would  interrupt  himself 
to  ask  me  to  go  down  to  Don  Arcadio  and  ask  the 
meaning  of  a  Latin  geological  expression  which  he 
could  not  fathom.  Later  on  we  were  supplied  by  Don 
Arcadio  with  various  authors  in  the  Latin  language, 
such  as  Joannes  Stobaeus  and  Olympiodorus,  who  had 
touched  these  matters,  more  or  less.  And  those  were 
the  proud  moments  of  my  life  when  Don  Eugenio 
asked  me  to  look  up  in  one  or  other  of  them  for 
an  explanation  of  some  word  or  phrase  in  Roger  Bacon. 
I  was  rather  sorry  if  by  accident  I  hit  upon  the  ex- 
planation very  quickly;  it  more  often  happened  that 
I  never  found  it.  We  had  also,  in  a  Spanish  transla- 
tion, the  book  which  Dioscorides,  of  Anazarbos,  the 
great  army  doctor,  wrote  on  minerals. 

During  these  very  glorious  days  we  neither  of  us 
knew  if  an  arrangement  had  been  made  between  Faus- 
tino  and  the  Noahcite.  Perhaps  the  faithful  and  most 
pious  servant  had  agreed  to  stay  till  the  experiments 
with  liquid  gold  had  either  proved  successful  or  had 
not;  perhaps  the  Noahcite  was  turning  his  attention 
to  another  branch  of  his  great  work.  At  any  rate 
there  seemed  to  be  no  jar  in  their  relations,  and  Faus- 
tino  went  about  his  business  in  precisely  the  same 
quiet  and  contented  fashion  as  before. 

But  now  Maria  used  to  come  each  night  into  my 
room.  When  Don  Eugenio  had  fallen  into  his  sound 
slumber  she  would  creep  away.    I  sometimes  fell  asleep 


THE  HOUSE  OF  THE  FIGHTING-COCKS     149 

myself  before  she  came,  and  on  the  other  nights  I 
could  not  bear  to  wait  so  long — I  leaned  out  of  the 
window  and  I  threw  myself  upon  the  bed  again,  and 
finally  I  used  to  feel  my  way  along  the  corridor  till 
I  was  outside  Don  Eugenio's  room.  If  he  was  not 
yet  snoring  I  would  wait,  and  I  was  fiercely  hot  and 
cold  so  that  I  trembled,  and  it  seemed  to  me  that 
if  he  was  awake  he  certainly  would  hear  me.  But 
I  could  not  go  away.  And  in  the  end  the  door  would 
softly  open  and  we  two  would  glide  together  down  the 
corridor. 

When  we  were  in  my  room  she  loved  to  tell  me  that 
I  was  a  fool  for  having  left  it. 

And  I  said  that  nobody  could  hear  me.  I  had  gone 
so  carefully. 

"Some  night,"  she  said,  "my  little  Juanito,  you 
will  lose  the  road  and  stumble  down  the  stairs  and 
kill  yourself.  Ay  de  mi,  what  shall  I  do?  Besides, 
it  will  make  such  a  noise." 

Sometimes  I  never  answered  her  at  all,  but  grasped 
her  in  my  arms,  and  while  I  kissed  her,  while  her 
lovely  hair  was  round  me  and  upon  my  shoulders,  I 
would  feel  that  I  was  drowning,  drowning  into  endless 
life.  Sometimes  Maria  would  resist  me,  pushing  me 
away  with  her  open  hands  or  scratching  me  or  spit- 
ling,  just  as  if  she  were  a  wild  thing  of  the  woods,  and 
all  her  useless  struggles  made  me  more  and  more  en- 
flamed.  I  was  surprised  at  my  own  strength  as  grad- 
ually I  began  to  overpower  her,  and  then  it  was  her 
arms  no  longer  pushed  against  me,  but  were  winding 
round  me  and  our  hearts  were  one  heart  singing, 
singing. 

Soon,  alas!  the  moments  of  enchantment  ended,  and 
as  I  lay  at  her  side  and  she  still  held  my  hand  in  hers 
I  used  to  have  another  kind  of  thought. 


I50    THE  HOUSE  OF  THE  FIGHTING-COCKS 

"Maria,  you  must  leave  him,  Don  Eugenio,"  said  I. 

"Oho,"  she  laughed.  I  could  not  see  her,  but  I 
knew  what  sort  of  roguish  look  was  in  her  eyes. 

"Maria,  will  you  listen  to  me?" 

She  pretended  to  be  shocked.  "What  gratitude!" 
said  she.  "From  being  nothing  in  the  world  he  brings 
you  here  and  lets  you  be  his  comrade.  Then  you 
turn  on  him  with  treachery  and  try  to  leave  him  deso- 
late. Oh,  fie!  I  never  thought  that  Juanito  would 
be  such  a  monster." 

"But,  Maria,  do  you  love  me?" 

"It  is  most  peculiar,"  she  said,  "that  you  should 
ask  me  that.  Indeed,  I  think  that  it  is  not  polite 
considering  what  we  have  done.  You  are  a  savage 
person,  Juanito.  And  if  you  continue  so  against  your 
master,  who  is  the  most  kind  of  men,  I  shall  not  speak 
to  you  another  word  and  you  will  see  if  you  will  like 
it  to  be  treated  sternly  or,  as  they  say,  to  love  God 
in  a  strange  land." 

What  was  this?  Was  this  Maria  speaking?  Some- 
how I  conveyed  to  her  that  she  astonished  me. 

"It  is  all  easy  to  explain,"  she  said.  "You  cannot 
live  with  Don  Eugenio  and  still  be  only  a  poor  ignorant 
and  foolish  Indian  girl." 

Perhaps  he  had  been  doing  miracles  on  me,  but  at 
this  instant  she  had  suddenly  been  raised  for  me  to 
some  extraordinary  pinnacle.  I  felt  I  must  apologize 
for  my  embraces.    And  I  did  so. 

But  she  interrupted  me  with  laughter  of  a  kind 
which  persons  on  a  pinnacle  did  not,  according  to  my 
theories  of  deportment,  use.  She  merrily  rebuked  me 
for  my  notions  and  she  kissed  me,  and  "My  little 
Juanito,  if  you  think  I  do  not  want  to  be  with  you," 
said  she,  "would  I  be  here?  You  please  me.  By  the 
wrath  of  God,  it  was  on  the  first  day  that  I  saw  you, 


THE  HOUSE  OF  THE  FIGHTING-COCKS     151 

when  you  looked  at  me  with  such  big  eyes  of  pity 
as  I  sat  on  the  lieutenant's  horse,  it  was  just  then 
that  I  decided  we  would  love  each  other." 

Scarcely  had  she  finished  speaking  than  I  flung 
myself  again  into  her  arms,  and  with  a  new  fire  blazing 
in  me  I  pressed  kisses  here  and  there  and  everywhere. 
The  room  was  filled  with  music  of  mad  fairies. 

She  told  me  that  she  wanted  me  to  listen  to  her 
and  she  then  enjoined  me  to  be  thoughtful,  more  than 
I  had  been.  "This  time  will  you  be  so  kind,"  said 
she,  "will  you  remember  that  you  are  not  by  yourself, 
and  that  a  gentleman  is  he  who  lives  in  order  to  please 
others?  Juanito,  you  are  not  offended,  are  you?  All 
the  young  are  selfish  till  one  has  instructed  them." 

"But  where  did  you  learn  all  these  things?"  I  asked, 
for  she  amazed  me. 

It  was  Don  Eugenio  again. 

I  had  forgotten  her  injunction.  I  was  on  the  point 
of  speaking  of  him. 

"And  if  I  am  here,"  she  said,  "to-morrow  and  the 
next  night  and  the  next,  and  they  are  all  the  same  to 
you,  then  you  are  a  barbarian,  says  Don  Eugenio,  and 
worse.  But  now  I  will  forget  him  for  a  time,  my 
little  one." 

Presently  she  also  said  I  was  her  love  and  her  sweet 
syrup  and  her  little  cat. 

I  was  very  glad,  because  my  ignorance  had  made  me 
feel  so  humble,  and  I  had  been  very  anxious  that  she 
should  be  pleased  with  me. 

At  last,  when  I  was  lying  there  and  she  was  sitting 
at  my  side  and  was  caressing  me,  I  thought  of  En- 
riqueta  and  I  told  her,  but  she  knew  already. 

"The  man  who  comes  on  horseback  with  our  milk," 
she  said,  "he  also  takes  it  up  to  the  lieutenant,  and  he 
told  me  that  this  woman  Enriqueta  is  in  the  apartment 


152    THE  HOUSE  OF  THE  FIGHTING-COCKS 

and  that  she  has  asked  him  to  bring  you  to  see  her." 

"But,"  I  pointed  out,  "you  did  not  tell  me." 

"No,  I  did  not,"  said  Maria.  "How  she  came  into 
the  hands  of  the  lieutenant,  Don  Esteban  Fuentes,  the 
milkman  does  not  know.  But  she  will  not  be  his  good 
angel,  says  the  milkman,  for  she  swears  that  she  will 
always  be  most  faithful  and  will  not  desert  him.  She 
has  even  told  the  milkman  that  in  a  campaign  she  will 
not  cease  to  follow  her  beloved.  Everybody  knows 
that  it  is  only  women  of  the  common  soldiers  who  do 
such  a  thing — to  cook  for  them  and  nurse  them  and 
look  after  their  belongings,  children,  dogs,  and  par- 
rots, which  the  soldier  does  not  carry  even  if  he  be 
on  horseback — and  then  in  the  middle  of  a  battle  if  a 
soldier  is  uneasy,  fearing  lest  the  woman  or  the  burden 
she  has  with  her  is  not  safe,  he  can  withdraw  to  where 
she  is  and  reassure  himself.  But  if  an  officer  goes 
back  out  of  the  battle  it  is  not  the  same,  because  he  is 
an  officer,  and  so  the  woman  who  is  luring  him  to  this 
is  an  abandoned  woman." 

"Any  one  would  think,"  said  I,  "that  you  are  fond 
of  the  lieutenant." 

"Oh,  that  shameless  one!  But  it  is  you  I  love." 
She  bent  down  over  me  and  was  most  tender. 

And  I  hoped  that  she  would  soon  sit  up  and  talk 
again,  but  when  she  did  it  was  about  us  two. 

"How  did  I  ever  live,"  said  she,  "without  you?  I 
was  waiting  for  you,  I  suppose.  I  really  like  you  very, 
very  much,  my  Juanito.  And  I  only  hope  that  you 
like  me  as  much  as  that." 

"Oh,  yes,"  said  I. 

"This  woman  Enriqueta,"  she  went  on,  "has  told 
the  milkman  that  she  will  be  faithful  always,  as  if 
anybody  should  be  faithful  always!  She  has  fastened 
herself  on  to  him  and  how  much  can  she  love  the  man 


THE  HOUSE  OF  THE  FIGHTING-COCKS     153 

if  she  remains  with  him  when  they  no  longer  love 
each  other?  ...  In  my  village  there  are  two  inhabi- 
tants, the  one  an  old  man  who  is  called  Jacinto,  and 
a  handsome  old  woman  who  is  Catalina.  Now  and 
then  they  see  each  other  at  the  large  tree  where  the 
people  sit,  and  there  they  have  a  little  gossip.  Once 
they  lived  together  and  had  many  children,  who  are 
men  and  women  of  that  village  and  of  other  parts. 
Jacinto  never  married  Catalina,  for  they  were  not  rich 
enough  to  pay  the  fees,  and  even  if  they  had  been 
they  would  not  have  married;  and  when  both  of  them 
were  old  and  deaf  and  quarrelsome  they  lived  apart, 
which  was  a  very  good  arrangement.  But  a  young 
priest  came  from  Europe,  and  he  scarcely  settled  down 
before  he  wanted  to  reform  the  village,  and  he  started 
with  these  two  old  people.  First  he  said  that  they 
must  marry,  but  they  utterly  refused.  He  tried  to 
make  them,  and  he  failed.  And  then  he  said,  at  all 
events  they  must  not  live  apart.  But  for  a  long  time 
he  could  not  persuade  them  even  to  do  this.  He 
talked  to  them  and  talked  to  them  about  the  glory 
they  would  have  in  heaven  if  they  were  good  people, 
and  he  shouted  at  them  of  the  flames  in  which  bad 
people  had  to  burn.  He  shouted  at  them  privately 
and  when  he  preached  a  sermon  in  our  church,  and 
every  one  enjoyed  it,  for  the  priest  we  used  to  have 
before  him  had  been  very  gentle  with  regard  to  all 
these  matters,  and  the  people  knew  that  he  was  right. 
The  young  man  still  continued  with  his  raging,  and  I 
think  it  gave  him  pleasure  also,  for  the  church  was 
always  full  and  everybody  listened  with  great  care, 
and  also  the  young  priest  thought  he  had  come  into 
our  village  like  an  early  martyr  of  the  Church,  a 
pioneer,  and  he  determined  to  be  just  as  bold  and  des- 
perate as  they  had  been.    And  in  the  end  he  took  a 


154    THE  HOUSE  OF  THE  FIGHTING-COCKS 

torch  and  set  on  fire  the  little  house  of  Catalina,  so  that 
she  should  be  compelled  to  go  into  Jacinto's  house. 
And  that  is  what  she  did,  and  all  the  people  of  the 
village  laughed.  But  Catalina  and  Jacinto  fought  each 
other  all  day  long,  and  then  he  threw  her  out  and 
there  was  nowhere  else  for  her  to  go,  because  the  other 
people  were  afraid  that  any  dwelling  which  received 
her  would  be  set  on  fire.  And  thus  she  marched  into 
the  house  of  the  young  priest,  with  all  the  village 
looking  on.  He  could  not  order  her  away,  and  so 
she  stayed  there  and  became  his  mistress." 

While  Maria  told  me  this  affecting  story  I  could  feel 
her  little  laugh  go  rippling  through  me,  and  she  must 
have  known  it,  for  she  asked  me  if  I  would  not  look 
at  the  nice  ornament  which  hung  upon  her  breast. 
It  was  not  shining  much,  and  I  had  to  get  near  to  it  to 
see  it  properly.  And  the  result  was  that  my  mind 
went  back  to  other  thoughts.  These  were  encouraged 
by  Maria  in  her  irresistible  and  most  endearing  fashion, 
and  it  grieved  me  that  she  should  be  growing  more 
and  more  vivacious  just  when  I  was  very  tired.  But 
I  vowed  I  would  not  let  her  scoff  at  me  for  that,  and 
it  would  likewise  have  been  lacking  in  all  courtesy  if 
I  had  disappointed  her.  And  I  am  glad  to  say  that 
I  was  able  to  prevent  her  feeling  any  wrath.  She  was 
the  sun,  and  flowers  sprang  to  life  within  me. 

But  naturally  it  was  difficult  for  me  to  concentrate 
myself  a  few  hours  later  on  my  work.  While  Don 
Eugenio  was  busily  engaged  in  making  the  most  elo- 
quent translation  of  a  passage — for  he  always  said  that 
easy  reading  is  not  brought  about  by  easy  writing — 
I  would  sit  and  dream.  I  watched  the  pale  clouds  as 
they  drifted  gracefully  across  the  dome  of  our  blue 
sapphire  sky,  and  as  they  separated  into  little  fleets  of 
sailing  boats  and  as  they  wandered  pitifully  with  no 


THE  HOUSE  OF  THE  FIGHTING-COCKS     155 

pilot  or  as  they  began  to  sink  into  the  sea  of  sapphire. 
I  was  sorry  for  them,  they  would  never  know  Maria. 

"Will  you  be  so  good,"  said  Don  Eugenio,  "as  to 
look  up  several  words  for  me  in  that  translation  of  our 
Dioscorides.  But  I  observe  that  you  are  disinclined 
to  work  this  morning.  Let  Pedacius  or  Pedanius 
Dioscorides  be  an  example  to  you;  he  was  famous  for 
his  industry  and  for  the  patience  he  devoted  to  re- 
search. He  fell,  no  doubt,  into  most  grievous  errors 
and  inaccuracies,  but  his  talents  are  not  to  be  blamed 
as  much  as  the  defective  state  of  science  when  he 
wrote.  Posterity  will  never  blame  you,  Juanito,  if  you 
are  less  perfect  than  itself.  And  if  you  are  industrious 
I  will  not  blame  you  either." 

I  murmured  that  I  had  been  thinking. 

"Ah,  my  son,"  said  he,  "I  should  not  like  to  know 
how  much  time  that  has  wasted  since  the  world  began. 
When  you  are  older  you  will  see  on  every  side,  for 
instance  in  a  library,  the  proof  of  how  men  have  flung 
all  their  lives  away  in  this  pursuit.  Perhaps  there 
was  a  good  philosopher  of  Augsburg  in  the  sixteenth 
century  who  spent  his  life  in  thinking  that  a  certain 
branch  of  knowledge  should  be  propagated  and  he 
wrote  a  hundred  books  about  it;  then  his  grandson 
spent  his  life  in  thinking  that  this  branch  was  fatuous 
and  obsolete  and  to  be  extirpated,  and  he  wrote  a 
hundred  books.  And  if  these  two  hundred  are  not  all 
forgotten  they  distract  us  with  their  rival  claims.  I 
would  impress  upon  you,  my  dear  son,  that  we  are 
not  obliged  to  think  with  this  philosopher  or  that — we 
need  not  think  at  all.  When  I  was  in  the  seminary  of 
that  famous  capital  which  I  shall  never  see  again,  they 
taught  me  that  the  thinking  on  all  subjects  of  impor- 
tance had  been  done  already  by  the  Fathers  of  the 
Church.     Now  there  are  two  ways,  I  was  told,  of 


156    THE  HOUSE  OF  THE  FIGHTING-COCKS 

thinking — one  is  right  and  one  is  wrong,  one  is  of  the 
Church  and  one  is  of  the  Lutherans,  the  Calvinists,  the 
Moors,  the  murderers,  the  tyrants,  the  false  witnesses, 
the  usurers,  and  all  such  people.  If  I  thought  of  any- 
thing myself  there  was  a  chance  that  I  would  harken 
to  the  whisper  of  some  devil  or  philosopher  and  not 
think  as  I  ought  to  do.  And  therefore  it  was  certainly 
less  dangerous  if  I  refrained  from  thinking.  I  need 
only  learn  and  then  remember  what  the  Church  taught. 
It  might  be  that  now  and  then  a  person  who  was  not 
inside  the  Church  would  have  the  right  thoughts  with 
regard  to  one  or  two  things,  but  that  was  no  more 
than  accident.  The  thoughts  of  man  are  wounded 
birds,  they  told  me,  for  their  range  is  very  small.  And 
any  one  who  trusts  himself  to  them  is  more  than  rash, 
''How  different  it  is,  my  son,  with  those  thoughts 
which  have  been  provided  by  the  holy  Church,  for 
they  are  indestructible,  immutable,  and  universal. 
Sometimes  they  may  seem  ridiculous,  but  that,  I  was 
informed  at  Zaragoza,  is  a  sign  that  we  have  lost  the 
beautiful  simplicity  of  mind  which  flourished  in  those 
far-off  pastoral  days.  The  thoughts  provided  by  the 
Church  may  seem  to  us  entirely  childish  and  when 
that  occurs  the  reason  is  that  we  are  ageing.  Oh,  let 
us  recapture  those  great  thoughts,  so  placid  and  pro- 
found! My  teachers  in  the  seminary,  when  I  ques- 
tioned them,  admitted  that  if  one  should  have  inside 
one's  head  no  other  thought  save  what  the  Sacred 
Fathers  had  laid  down,  there  would  arise  between 
one's  fellow-creatures  and  oneself  embarrassment,  mis- 
understandings, and  recrimination.  This,  however, 
would  be  due  exclusively  to  the  deplorable  back-sliding 
of  our  fellow-men,  whose  thoughts  had  been  so 
changed.     It  was  our  duty,  then,  despite  the  physical 


THE  HOUSE  OF  THE  FIGHTING-COCKS     157 

and  moral  opposition  that  we  would  encounter,  to  have 
in  one's  mind  exclusively  these  venerable  thoughts. 
But  they  admitted  also  that  it  is  not  always  easy  to 
remember  them,  indeed  that  we  should  often  stand  in 
gravest  jeopardy  of  not  remembering  if  we  were  un- 
assisted by  that  grace  which  sometimes  we,  who  are 
such  miserable  sinners,  are  in  no  condition  to  receive. 
"But  after  having  made  myself  as  like  a  Sacred 
Father  as  my  strength  allowed  me,  I  was  recommended 
not  to  waste  my  time  in  thinking,  but  to  act.  Is  it 
not  true  that  of  the  greater  saints  a  handful  have 
achieved  their  crowns  by  holy  thinking,  while  a  multi- 
tude have  gained  them  by  some  holy  deed?  Chris- 
tianity, my  child,  says  that  it  is  the  faith  of  the  sincere 
and  humble,  and  so  largely  are  the  saints  selected  from 
the  ranks  of  active  rather  than  of  meditative  men  that 
it  would  seem  as  if  the  chance  of  being  made  a  saint 
is  in  proportion  as  the  candidate's  activity  of  body 
is  superior  to  his  activity  of  mind.  Thus  in  the 
hierarchy  of  saints  the  one  who  was  admitted  with 
least  opposition  is  the  one  who  thought  the  least. 
And  whereas  there  is  no  man  of  any  vile  profession 
and  no  woman  of  the  most  antique  for  whom  there 
may  not  be  a  halo,  one  imagines  that  the  preference 
is  given  to  such  people  as  are  heedless,  careless,  in- 
attentive, flighty,  giddy,  and,  in  fact,  devoid  of  the 
capacity  for  thought.  Yet  the  possession  of  these 
qualities  will  not  suffice;  the  energy  that  would  be 
needed  to  suppress  them  must  be  used  in  doing  noble 
and  good  acts,  of  which  a  great  variety  have  in  the 
Christian  Church  been  recognized  as  meriting  a  saint- 
ship.  So,  my  Juanito,  you  will  gather  that  if  it  is  true 
what  I  was  taught  and  what  I  deduce  therefrom,  you 
should  not  put  yourself  to  inconvenience  in  learning 


158    THE  HOUSE  OF  THE  FIGHTING-COCKS 

what  the  world,  which  is  so  vain  and  transitory,  may 
esteem;  but  rather  you  should  strive  to  do  some  deed 
which  is  agreeable  to  God." 

I  had  been  thinking  that  my  master's  words  were 
wonderful  and  pious,  but  as  I  applied  them  to  myself 
I  dreaded  having  to  cease  learning  Latin  at  the  hands 
of  Don  Eugenio,  and  besides,  I  had  no  furious  desire 
to  be  a  saint.  I  ventured  to  inform  my  dear,  good 
master  of  these  sentiments. 

"Juanito,"  he  replied,  "your  honored  father,  who 
no  doubt  is  talking  of  us  to  his  fighting-cocks,  shall  not 
be  disappointed,  nor  shall  you,  for  since  the  Latin 
language  teaches  us  to  read  those  Sacred  Fathers  you 
may  cultivate  it  with  an  easy  mind.  And  as  for  these 
ideas  concerning  act  and  thought,  my  son,  one  cannot 
help  admiring  them.  Consider  how  a  Church  is  glori- 
ous which  raises  up  the  simple  and  the  unoriginal  to 
the  confusion  of  the  others!  How  far-reaching  a  re- 
ward that  Church  can  have,  since  it  appeals  to  men 
who  do  not  glitter  with  intelligence  and  surely  the 
prevailing  spirit  of  the  human  race  looks  angrily  at 
intellect.  Oh,  the  grandeur  of  the  Church  that  solves 
in  so  complete  a  fashion  all  our  little  gropings,  all 
our  doubts!  Oh,  the  celestial  wisdom!  Oh,  the  light 
from  heaven  which  conducts  the  poor  and  purblind, 
while  it  dazzles  uUerly  the  men  who  fondly  thought 
that  they  could  see  a  little !  Oh,  miracle!  Oh,  wonder 
of  the  universe!  Oh,  wise  commandment  which  is 
greater  than  all  earthly  wisdom!  And,  my  son,  I 
could,  if  it  were  needful,  give  you  many  very  adequate 
examples  of  promotion  to  the  highest  place  of  men 
and  women  who  refused  to  think  for  themselves.  Saint 
Leonardo  of  the  Order  of  Saint  Francis  was,  while 
still  a  boy,  so  glad  to  let  his  elders  think  for  him  that 
on  returning  to  his  uncle's  home  from  church  he  sat 


THE  HOUSE  OF  THE  FIGHTING-COCKS     159 

repeating  all  that  he  had  heard  there  while  his  supper 
grew  quite  cold.  There  is  the  edifying  instance  of  the 
Venerable  Vianney,  of  the  diocese  of  Lyons,  who  pre- 
ferred to  practise  the  renunciation  of  his  will  instead  of 
corporal  austerities,  'We  have  nothing  of  our  own,' 
said  he,  'except  our  will,  and  it  is  that  which  I  must  sac- 
rifice to  God.'  And  assuredly  obedience  could  no  fur- 
ther go  than  with  the  blessed  Bonaventura  of  Potenza, 
who  even  after  death  was  guided  by  the  thoughts  of 
others.  It  is  told  that  when  his  corpse,  exhaling  a 
sweet  odor,  was  borne  in  procession  through  the  village 
street,  one  of  the  carriers  ordered  him  to  lift  his  arm 
so  that  a  vein  might  be  perforated  by  the  doctor,  and 
his  blessed  arm,  whose  every  movement  had  been  reg- 
ulated by  the  will  of  others,  raised  itself.  Now  there 
are  many,  many  more  examples  of  this  virtue  of  not 
thinking  for  oneself;  and  yet,  my  son,  I  never  could 
accept  that  precept  of  the  seminary.  It  is  all  too  prob- 
able that  I  have  thrown  away  my  time  in  thinking, 
but  do  you  remember  those  philosophers  of  Augsburg 
whom  I  told  you  of?  Well,  even  if  oblivion  has  settled 
over  every  one  of  their  two  hundred  books  I  still  be- 
lieve that  honest  thoughts,  if  they  are  written  or  if 
they  are  not,  have  just  the  same  chance  as  an  honest 
man  of  being  dowered  with  eternal  life.  .  .  .  And  now 
you  will  oblige  me,  Juanito,  by  returning  to  the 
Dioscorides,  for  there  are  in  this  otherwise  attractive 
manuscript  some  technical  expressions  which  are  just 
as  dark  to  me  as  were  the  horses  of  Poseidon,  and 
yet  some  of  those  Etruscan  vases  give  him  both  a  white 
horse  and  a  black  one.  Oh,  there  is  no  single  question 
that  we  can  be  sure  of!  We  are  shadows  passing  in  a 
world  of  shadow!  And  I  spend  my  time  in  studying 
geology,  which  has  to  do  with  solid  things." 

Then  Don  Arcadio's  long  figure  stalked  into  the 


i6o    THE  HOUSE  OF  THE  FIGHTING-COCKS 

room.  He  looked  in  an  appreciative  way  at  my  dear 
master,  and  said  gravely  that  it  was  most  true. 

"In  fact,"  said  he,  "that  science  is  associated  with 
the  solid  things  of  life  in  more  than  one  way.  Is  it 
not  a  privilege  that  you  and  I  should  be  engaged  upon 
it?" 

"Sefior  Noahcite,"  said  Don  Eugenio,  "I  have  been 
talking  rather  philosophically  to  my  pupil,  so  much  so 
indeed  that  I  do  not  feel,  at  this  moment,  sure  of 
anything." 

"But  you  are  sure  about  the  virtues  of  geology,  at 
all  events?"  said  Don  Arcadio. 

"If  I  may  say  so,"  said  my  master,  with  a  smile  of 
tired  amusement,  "you  are  standing  there  with  the 
appearance  of  an  army  sergeant.  Yes,  and  you  recall 
to  me  an  episode.  I  said  just  now  that  I  do  not  feel 
sure  of  anything  and  I  agree  that  it  is  much  more 
comfortable  if  you  can  be  sure  of  everything,  as  was 
that  sergeant  I  am  going  to  tell  you  of — he  knew 
exactly  how  to  treat  the  foe,  because  he  knew  that  they 
possessed  no  single  moral  quality,  not  fortitude,  not 
valor  and  not  even  truthfulness.  One  day  his  men 
were  burying  a  little  heap  of  them,  and  presently  a 
soldier  came  to  him  and  said  that  that  one  yonder 
could  not  be  included,  for  he  was  not  dead.  'Bury 
him,  I  say,'  growled  the  sergeant.  Away  went  the 
soldier  and  came  back  again.  'We  can't  bury  that 
man,'  said  he,  'because  he  is  not  dead  at  all.'  'Bury 
him,'  growled  the  sergeant.  A  second  time  the  man 
went  back  and  once  more  he  returned.  'We  can't 
bury  him,'  said  he,  'he  is  not  dead.'  'And  how  do 
you  know  that?'  growled  the  sergeant.  'He  says  so 
himself,'  *  replied  the  man.     'How  often  have  I  told 

*  See  Note  I.,  p.  299. 


THE  HOUSE  OF  THE  FIGHTING-COCKS     i6i 

you,'  said  the  sergeant,  'that  you  are  not  to  believe  a 
word  they  say?'  .  .  .  This  is  the  story,"  said  my 
master.  "Do  you  think,"  he  said,  with  some  anxiety, 
"that  I  am  not  a  person  of  sufficient  seriousness?  I 
do  assure  you  that  I  have  been  reading  this  old  manu- 
script with  concentration,  and  I  have  been  earning  all 
the  money  you  so  kindly  promised  me,  but  which — 
which  .  .  ." 

"Are  you  ready  for  another  manuscript?"  inquired 
the  Noahcite.  "I  have  received  some  more  from 
Europe  from  my  correspondents." 

I  could  see  that  Don  Eugenio  had  intended  to  pursue 
the  subject  of  the  salary  which  was  as  yet  unpaid. 
However,  he  did  nothing  more  than  shrug  his  shoul- 
ders and  "I  hope,"  said  he,  "your  manuscripts  have 
turned  out  to  be  valuable." 

"Thank  you,"  said  the  Noahcite.  "I  shall  be  sat- 
isfied if  they  are  half  as  valuable  to  me  as  to  the  eyes 
of  the  officials  in  the  custom  house  at  Veracruz.  It 
is  a  monstrous  thing  that  one  should  have  to  pay  on 
manuscripts.  The  law  says  nothing,  but  the  Chief 
Official  writes  me  that  I  must  be  patriotic  and  allow 
him  to  assess  my  imports  so  that  Maximilian's  Gov- 
ernment may  have  more  funds.  And  what  do  I  care 
for  this  Government  or  any  other  that  we  have?  The 
Chief  Official  tells  me  that  it  is  untrue  to  call  it  either 
futile  or  extravagant,  and  finally,  he  says,  it  stands 
between  us  and  a  Government  of  Juarez,  the  Liberal 
leader.  And  he  says  it  would  be  dreadful  to  be  ruled 
by  Liberal  bandits,  who  prevent  the  priests  from  own- 
ing what  they  like  and  doing  what  they  like.  He  says 
it  is  my  glory  to  assist  the  Empire  in  this  way,  and 
he  regrets  the  conduct  of  the  British  Minister  five  years 
ago — a  diplomat  of  insight  and  a  statesman,  says  the 
Chief  Official,  would  not  have  gone  out  of  Mexico  be- 


i62    THE  HOUSE  OF  THE  FIGHTING-COCKS 

cause  it  had  seemed  well  to  the  authorities  to  enter  the 
legation  and  appropriate  660,000  pesos.  A  Govern- 
ment, says  he,  which  has  got  no  resources  is  not  merely 
pitiable  but  also  dangerous." 

"Perhaps,"  said  Don  Eugenio,  "that  Government 
alone  is  good  which  makes  itself  superfluous."  Then 
suddenly  he  had  a  brilliant  idea.  "Senor,"  he  cried, 
"why  should  not  you  and  I  pack  up  these  books  and 
manuscripts  and  maps  and  all  the  rest  of  it,  and  travel 
to  some  other  country?  Juanito's  father  would,  I 
think,  raise  no  objection.  You  and  I  and  Juanito  and 
Maria  and  Faustino — let  us  go!" 

For  a  little  time  the  Noahcite  walked  up  and  down 
the  room,  his  hands  behind  his  back.  And  then  he 
stopped  and  shook  his  head.  "No,  no,"  said  he,  "what 
is  the  use  of  it?  We  may  find  something  even  worse. 
And,  though  I  am  without  experience  of  any  other 
country,  it  may  be  that  those  which  to  a  stranger  seem 
the  kindest  and  most  hospitable,  are  in  truth  the  most 
exacting.  At  any  rate,  I  have  a  pamphlet  which  was 
written  a  few  years  ago  by  some  indignant  Nicaraguans 
(but  published  in  Honduras)  when  their  Government 
was  in  the  hands  of  General  Walker,  the  American, 
known  as  the  filibuster.  It  is  stated  in  the  pamphlet 
that  all  new  American  arrivals  in  the  country  are  pre- 
sented with  so  many  acres  and  are  thus  made  citizens 
of  the  Republic,  eligible  for  such  offices  as  may  appeal 
to  them.  The  Nicaraguans  who  have  a  like  ambition 
must  be  honorable  men,  but  for  the  new  arrival  there 
is  no  such  obligation.  Well,  who  would  not  go  to 
Nicaragua?  Apparently,  a  married  couple  of  these 
immigrants  receive  an  extra  hundred  acres,  but  the 
pamphlet  says  that  'very  often  they  are  only  married 
civilly,  which  is  the  purest  concubinage,  and  this  does 
not  hinder  them  from  having  children,  in  accordance 


THE  HOUSE  OF  THE  FIGHTING-COCKS     163 

with  their  democratic,  filibustering  ideas.'  So  Nica- 
ragua, which  looked  more  generous  than  any  country 
I  had  heard  of,  is,  indeed,  exacting.  And  I  fear  that 
it  is  much  the  same  with  all  the  others.  .  .  .  But 
would  you  care  to  take  a  stroll?  I  have  not  left  the 
house  for  many  days  and  that  is  really  why  I  came 
here.    Faustino  says  that  I  must  take  a  walk." 

"Most  willingly,"  said  Don  Eugenio;  and,  as  the 
Noahcite  turned  round,  my  master  made  a  sign  to  me 
and  so  we  followed  him. 


CHAPTER  XIII 

As  my  master  and  the  Noahcite  walked  slowly  on 
the  narrow  footpath^  I  myself  ran  down  the  hill  in  front 
of  them.  This  was  the  street  of  memories — Maria  and 
the  twilight  and  the  rocking-chairs  of  those  who  gazed 
at  us — but  now  as  I  ran  down  it  in  the  sparkling 
brilliance  of  the  morning  it  appeared  to  me  as  if  the 
morning  was  a  river^  gay  with  music,  and  upon  that 
river  all  my  memories  were  flakes  of  snow.  It  was 
delightful  to  be  running  down  the  street. 

And  where  the  town  comes  to  an  end  I  saw  both 
Enriqueta  and  old  Captain  Bartolme  Robledo  as  they 
were  returning  over  the  stone  bridge  that  leads  into 
the  open  country.  She  was  sitting  very  proudly  on 
a  horse,  behind  her  was  a  soldier-servant  on  another 
horse,  and  poor  Don  Bartolme  was  trudging  through 
the  dust.  Perhaps  he  had  put  on  his  ancient  uniform 
— which,  you  may  recollect,  was  only  his  for  having 
stolen  it  from  a  dead  officer — he  may  have  put  it  on 
in  order  to  win  favor  in  the  eyes  of  Enriqueta.  But 
she  was  not  paying  him  the  least  attention,  and  the 
soldier-servant  looked  like  one  of  those  who  do  not 
take  an  interest  in  anything.  The  dust  lay  in  large 
patches  on  the  Captain's  uniform,  which  once  had  been 
dark  blue;  it  lay  upon  his  careworn  face  and  hairy 
bosom,  for  he  had  unfastened  a  few  buttons  of  the 
tunic.  He  was  panting  very  much,  and  as  he  lurched 
along  I  was  afraid  that  he  would  fall.  And  Enriqueta 
sat  there  like  the  cruel  eagle  of  the  arms  of  Mexico, 
which  has  the  serpent  tightly  in  her  talons.     I  had 

164 


THE  HOUSE  OF  THE  FIGHTING-COCKS     165 

never  seen  her  look  so  ruthless  and  magnificent  and 
beautiful.  She  may  not  have  observed  me;  anyhow, 
she  took  no  notice  and  the  three  had  passed  me,  and 
I  still  was  gazing  at  them  when  my  master  and  the 
Noahcite  came  down  the  street,  and  all  together  we 
went  on  across  the  bridge. 

The  Noahcite  was  talking.  "But  the  other  day," 
said  he,  "you  were  reluctant  to  agree  that  liquid  gold 
confers  a  benefit  by  lengthening  our  life.  Indeed,  you 
doubted  whether  such  phenomena  were  possible.  And 
with  regard  to  other  substances  of  which  our  earth  is 
made,  I  fear  that  you  will  not  believe  in  their  great 
properties,  whatever  these  may  be,  and  so  we  two  will 
be  compelled  to  argue  endlessly.  But,  on  the  other 
hand,  I  have  been  thinking  that  if  all  these  substances 
can  be  transmuted  into  one  another  we  shall  merely 
have  to  know  the  properties  of  one,  and  when  we  are 
agreed  on  those  we  shall  be  thoroughly  acquainted 
with  the  properties  of  all  the  numerous  and  interesting 
substances  which  go  to  form  our  earth.  And  that  will 
be  a  notable  step  forward.  When  we  once  have  settled 
what  is  in  this  earth  we  will  know  perfectly  what  lay 
in  Noah's  head.  Yes,  we  will  know  this  even  better 
than  he  knew  himself,  because  the  very  large  propor- 
tion of  his  powers  lay  within  him  in  a  dormant  or,  I 
should  say,  latent  state." 

"I  wonder  if  he  could  see  people  who  were  yet  un- 
born," said  Don  Eugenio. 

"By  careful  study  on  the  lines  which  I  have  indi- 
cated," said  the  Noahcite,  "we  shall  ere  very  long 
know  all  about  him.  But  we  must  work  back  to  him, 
as  I  explained,  not  through  the  wayward  generations, 
but  through  earth,  which  is  to-day  what  it  was  then." 

"I  wonder  what  the  good  man  thought  of  us,"  said 
Don  Eugenio. 


i66    THE  HOUSE  OF  THE  FIGHTING-COCKS 

"And  how  convenient/'  said  the  Noahcite,  "if  all 
these  miscellaneous  substances  of  earth  can  be  trans- 
muted into  one  another.  Mind  you,  I  do  not  say  that 
it  is  so;  but  I  am  investigating.  I  have  thrown  myself 
these  last  few  days  most  ardently  into  the  question, 
ardently  and  with  a  palpitating  hope.  Think  how 
much  nearer  it  would  bring  us  to  the  goal!" 

By  this  time  we  were  a  good  distance  from  Jalapa, 
and  I  thought  that  Don  Eugenio,  who  was  not  built  for 
walking  more  than  necessary,  would  sit  down  against 
a  tree  or  else  against  a  stone  which  here  and  there 
had  risen  over  its  old  comrades  of  the  ancient  road 
and  had  perhaps  received  a  covering  of  roses  or  of 
moss.  But  yet  he  persevered,  and  Don  Arcadio  looked 
as  if  he  would  walk  up  to  the  green  mountains  and 
the  blue  ones. 

"It  is  natural,"  said  Don  Arcadio,  "that  all  the  trans- 
mutations which  we  read  of  deal  with  sundry  metals 
being  turned  to  gold." 

"For  my  part  I  am  ready  to  believe,"  said  Don 
Eugenio,  "that  if  one  metal  can  be  changed  to  gold 
then  you  can  change  one  metal  into  any  other  metal 
that  you  like.  When  Saint  Eugracia,  whose  unworthy 
hagiographer  I  am,  was  buried,  eighteen  angels  came, 
according  to  a  good  account,  to  give  assistance  at  the 
funeral.  And  there  are  people  who  reject  the  tale 
because  it  would  be  an  astounding  incident  for  eighteen 
angels  to  appear  at  anybody's  funeral.  But,  as  I 
pointed  out,  if  you  are  willing  to  believe  in  one  angel, 
then  it  wants  no  greater  faith  to  believe  in  hundreds." 

"And  I  suppose  you  will  agree,"  said  Don  Arcadio, 
"that  if  one  can  transmute  a  little  metal  into  gold  one 
can  transmute  a  limitless  amount?" 

"I  undertake  that  I  would  never,  never  ask  you 
for  another  piece  of  gold,"  said  Don  Eugenio,  "if  I 


THE  HOUSE  OF  THE  FIGHTING-COCKS     167 

knew  how  to  make  it.  Why  should  I  want  to  have 
a  store  of  diamonds  if  I  could  get  them  out  of  carbon 
with  more  ease  than  from  Golconda?" 

"Senor  ex-librarian,"  said  the  Noahcite,  "you  may 
not  have  pursued  the  subject,  but  it  seems  to  me  that 
there  are  ample  precedents  for  the  successful  trans- 
mutation of  a  metal  into  gold,  I  have  examined  the 
good  work  of  Michael  Sendivogius,  the  Moravian, 
whose  real  name  was  Sensophax.  He  helped  the 
alchemist  called  Sethon  to  escape  from  prison,  but 
could  not  persuade  him  to  reveal  the  secrets  of  the 
powder  which  had  been  the  cause  of  his  incarceration 
and  most  fearful  torments.  Later  on,  however, 
Sendivogius  inherited  this  powder  and,  despite  the 
troubles  into  which  it  plunged  him,  he  continued  to 
employ  it  in  transmuting  metals  into  gold,  and  was, 
indeed,  so  anxious  to  enlarge  his  stock  of  powder  that 
he  married  Sethon 's  widow,  only  to  discover  that  she 
could  not  make  it.  And  I  ask  you,  would  the  persecu- 
tion of  him  have  proceeded  if  his  power  had  not  been 
effective?  Would  the  Polish  nobleman  have  laid  an 
ambush  on  the  road  and  seized  him  and  confined  him 
in  a  dungeon,  out  of  which  he  managed  to  escape,  a 
naked  man,  but  with  the  powder?  Would  Duke 
Frederic,  of  Wiirtemberg  have  entertained  him  and 
conferred  on  him  a  title  if  the  powder  had  been  use- 
less? And  the  rival  alchemist  who  was  attached  to 
Frederic's  court,  would  he  have  treacherously  urged 
our  Sendivogius  to  fly  and  then  overtaken  him  with 
twelve  armed  men  and  robbed  him  of  the  powder  and 
imprisoned  him  again?  No,  everything  appears  to 
show  that  he  was  able  to  transmute  another  metal  into 
gold.  We  need  not  ask  about  the  composition  of  his 
powder  any  more  than  we  need  ask  about  the  marvel- 
ous philosopher's  stone.    It  is  enough  that  it  exists." 


i68    THE  HOUSE  OF  THE  FIGHTING-COCKS 

"Yes,  yes,"  said  Don  Eugenio,  "but  why  then  have 
they  not  converted  into  gold  our  rocks  and  stones  and 
mud  and  all  this  earth?" 

"And  thus  have  nothing  left  to  do?"  said  Don 
Arcadio.  "What  princes  then  would  humbly  crave 
their  presence  and  would  shower  gifts  upon  them? 
And,  moreover,  it  is  sometimes  the  employer's  fault 
that  alchemists  do  not  convert  a  substance  into  gold. 
For  example,  it  was  Henry  the  Sixth  of  England  who — 
dissatisfied  with  the  rate  at  which  the  gold  was  being 
manufactured — caused  his  alchemists  to  occupy  them- 
selves with  making  him  an  amalgam  of  copper,  out  of 
which  he  struck  false  money." 

For  a  little  time  my  master  and  the  Noahcite  walked 
on  in  silence,  each  engaged  with  his  own  thoughts. 

And  then  the  Noahcite  said  that  he  spoke  on  the 
authority,  not  of  such  bygone  heroes  as  Spinoza  or 
Leibnitz,  but  of  the  most  recent  scientific  coryphsei, 
who  asserted  that  it  is  by  no  means  foolish  to  admit 
that  all  matter  is  one  and  that  there  are  irreducible 
atoms  which,  in  their  agglomeration  submitting  to 
various  laws,  perhaps  to  a  single  one,  take  every  form 
upon  themselves.  Thus,  all  imaginable  transmutations 
cease  any  longer  to  appear  impossible.  What  we  must 
do  is  to  discover  the  simple  irreducible  body  and  then 
the  laws  which  it  obeys  in  the  assumption  of  those 
multiple  forms  which  it  affects." 

"Oh,  well,  I  do  not  say,"  quoth  Don  Eugenio,  "that 
I  do  not  believe  in  all  these  things.  For  at  the  bottom 
of  my  heart  I  cannot  help  believing  m  the  holiness  of 
man,  and  this  requires,  you  will  agree,  a  faith  more 
stubborn  than  is  wanted  for  the  school  of  any  alchemist. 
What  they  assert  is  capable  of  proof  and  therefore  less 
sublime  than  those  exalted  things  which  I  believe  and 
which,  if  God  does  not  abandon  me,  I  shall  not  cease 


THE  HOUSE  OF  THE  FIGHTING-COCKS     169 

believing  with  my  latest  thought,  however  contrary  to 
reason  and  ridiculous  they  may  appear.  Amen  .  .  . 
But  I  should  like  to  have  the  smallest  proof,  dear 
friend,  of  your  ability  to  turn  metal  into  gold." 

"Oh,  listen  to  him!  There  is  nothing  easier,"  cried 
Don  Arcadio,  "and  I  will  do  it  instantly.  I  would, 
that  is  to  say,  if  I  possessed  the  needful  apparatus. 
But  I  will  go  home  and  I  will  read  about  the  exploits 
of  some  others  of  the  grand  alchemical  philosophers." 

He  stopped  and  turned  and  walked  away  from  us. 
My  master  also  did  not  hesitate,  but  strode  along  with 
great  determination  and  he  did  not  once  look  round. 
At  last  he  spied  a  ruined  wall  which  stood  inside  a 
grove  of  flowering  myrtles  at  a  little  distance  from  the 
road.  He  climbed  up  and  I  climbed  up  after  him,  and 
then  we  saw  that  we  were  in  the  ruins  of  a  convent. 
It  had  evidently  been  destroyed  a  long  time,  for  the 
whole  interior  was  a  thicket  of  rank  vegetation.  Don 
Eugenio  found  a  place  where  we  could  sit  against  the 
wall,  with  purple  flowers  growing  at  our  back,  and 
then  he  told  me  that  he  would  be  glad  if  I  rejected 
some  of  these  extraordinary  notions  of  the  Noahcite. 

"Whatever  he  may  say,"  said  Don  Eugenio,  "I  think 
the  changing  of  a  baser  metal  into  gold  would  not 
have  God's  approval.  I  will  tell  you  why.  'He  that  is 
unjust,  let  him  be  unjust  still:  and  he  which  is  filthy, 
let  him  be  filthy  still:  and  he  that  is  righteous,  let  him 
be  righteous  still:  and  he  that  is  holy,  let  him  be  holy 
still.'  That  is  from  the  Bible;  does  it  not  lay  down 
that  baser  substance  should  not  hope  to  be  converted 
into  gold?  And  yet — and  yet  .  .  .  But  this  I  do  know, 
that  to  some  God  gives  great  beauty  and  to  others  ugli- 
ness. He  is  not  a  huckster  with  a  pair  of  scales,  who 
compensates  with  sundry  virtues  those  of  us  who  are 
deficient  in  this  gift  or  that.    It  surely  is  most  impious 


I70    THE  HOUSE  OF  THE  FIGHTING-COCKS 

to  say,  as  people  do^  that  God  does  not  allow  the 
beautiful  to  have  the  same  amount  of  other  estimable 
qualities  as  have  the  rest  of  us." 

He  brushed  a  fly  from  his  large  forehead  and  leaned 
back  and  smiled.  But  then  another  thought  came  over 
him.  "That  fellow,"  he  exclaimed,  "that  Noahcite, 
that  spagirist,  with  the  agglomerating  atoms  which  sub- 
mit to  laws!  Am  I  to  think  of  Enriqueta  as  a  mere 
assemblage  of  these  atoms?  And  even  as  they  came 
together  so  will  they,  with  absolute  indifference,  depart 
from  one  another !  Bueno,  but  they  make  a  very  pleas- 
ing picture.  The  dear  girl!  No,  I  will  not  brood  on 
her  transitory  atoms  any  more  than  she  does." 

"Did  you  see  her  on  that  horse,"  I  asked,  "and  Don 
Bartolme?" 

"Yes,  and  even  if  I  am  entirely  wrong  in  what  I  said 
of  God's  design — I  should  not  be  astonished  if  it  can 
be  proved,  by  copious  quotations,  that  it  is  the  very 
opposite  and  that  a  lower  metal  should  be  turned  to 
gold,  and  that  there  is  no  lower  metal  in  the  sight  of 
the  Creator — yet  I  am  pleased  that  we  have  talked  of 
God  before  we  talk  of  Enriqueta,  for  it  is  the  custom 
of  those  people,  Don  Arcadio's  new  proteges,  who  sally 
out  in  search  of  the  philosopher's  stone,  to  make  a  start 
by  turning  their  unbalanced  minds  to  the  All-Powerful. 
And  as  for  Enriqueta,  you  will  not  have  seen  how 
grandly  beautiful  she  has  become.  In  Colorado  she 
was  at  a  disadvantage,  owing  to  the  meanness  of  her 
situation.  Here,  it  seems  to  me,  she  is  redoubtable,  she 
is  serene,  she  is  the  princess  of  that  fairy  tale  who 
thought  she  was  a  farmer's  servant  till  she  wandered 
out  into  the  world  and  found  the  Kingdom  of  her 
ancestors.  But  what  will  Enriqueta  do?  One  sees 
that  she  has  made  a  friend  already.  It  is  to  be  feared 
that  she  will  cause  some  bloodshed;  for  I  apprehend 


THE  HOUSE  OF  THE  FIGHTING-COCKS     171 

that  she  is  no  more  virginal  in  her  behavior  than  this 
place  in  which  we  sit  is  like  a  convent.  .  .  .  Yet,  after 
all,"  said  he,  "why  should  one  deplore  so  much  the 
quarrels  she  will  bring  about?  Is  it  not  a  nobler  and 
more  sacred  thing  to  let  your  blood  flow  for  the  sake 
of  beauty  rather  than  for  politics?  And  Mexicans, 
apparently,  insist  that  it  shall  flow.  But  if  the  country 
were  to  fight  on  account  of  one  beautiful  woman,  they 
would  understand  why  they  are  fighting.  By  the  way, 
the  most  austere  advocate  of  warfare  would  be  satis- 
fied, because  the  struggle,  for  the  very  large  proportion 
of  the  combatants,  would  be  without  hope  of  personal 
benefit.  And  every  one  would  understand  what  he  is 
fighting  for.  Those  poor  devils  of  Indian  soldiers  in 
this  country,  do  they  understand  why  they  are  made 
to  kill  each  other?"  ...  He  looked  at  me,  his  eyes 
aflame  with  honest  indignation  and  with  pity. 

And  I  gazed  at  him. 

"Poor  devils!  And  the  soldiers  of  all  other  coun- 
tries!" ...  He  was  panting.  But,  as  he  continued 
looking  at  me,  he  began  to  shake  his  wise  old  head. 
"And  you,"  said  he,  "my  Juanito,  if  you  really  under- 
stand what  is  a  virgin  you  will  not  do  as  the  vulgar 
folk  one  day  when  I  was  in  Madrid^  for  some  one  asked 
a  little  boy,  who  had  been  taken  to  the  pictures  at  the 
Prado,  what  a  virgin  is,  and  he  said  that  it  is  a  woman 
with  a  child.  Of  course,  the  foolish  people  laughed. 
But,  Juanito,  if  in  course  of  time  you  should  forget 
whatever  I  have  taught  you,  this,  at  all  events,  I  beg 
you  to  remember — that  we,  if  we  dare  condemn  the 
morals  of  our  fellow-creatures  must  condemn  no 
woman,  for  so  many  of  them  are  like  water-lilies  that 
are  virginal  and  white,  though  rooted  in  repulsive  mud. 
The  time  will  come  for  you,  my  son,  when  you  will 
love  the  sex;  to  love  is  to  understand,  but  you  will  find 


172     THE  HOUSE  OF  THE  FIGHTING-COCKS 

that  you  must  love  woman  a  great  deal  before  you 
can  understand  her  a  little." 

Later  on,  as  we  were  going  back  towards  Jalapa, 
I  explained  to  Don  Eugenio  how  it  was  my  fault  that 
Enriqueta  had  arrived,  and  how  it  was  that  she  had 
come  to  our  lieutenant. 

"Ah,  well,"  quoth  my  good  master,  "let  us  hope  that 
God  has  given  him  the  gift  which  is  greater  than 
beauty,  I  mean  the  power  of  appreciating  it.  We  must 
lose  no  time  in  going  to  that  house." 

I  wondered  if  my  master  would  remove  her,  even  as 
he  took  Maria  from  the  same  lieutenant  in  the  forest. 

Once  we  were  inside  the  town  it  was  not  difficult  to 
find  the  place  where  Don  Esteban  Fuentes  lived.  The 
loiterer  who  took  us  to  the  top  of  that  particular  street, 
and  was  carefully  polishing  his  nails  as  he  strolled 
along,  would  surely  not  have  left  us  had  he  noticed 
what  was  happening  at  the  house.  Don  Bartolme,  the 
poor  old  captain,  who  was  seated  on  a  bench  outside 
it,  looked  as  if  his  sufferings  had  made  him  numb. 
His  arms  hung  limply  down,  and  though  the  dust, 
which  was  all  over  him,  was  even  on  his  mouth  he  did 
not  seem  to  care.  The  noise  of  a  guitar  and  singing 
came  out  of  the  open  windows  of  a  room  above  him, 
on  the  first  floor.  It  was  Enriqueta  and  Don  Esteban 
Fuentes  singing. 

When  we  halted  opposite  the  Captain  and  saluted 
him,  he  nodded  at  us  with  no  sign  of  pleasure  or  aston- 
ishment. He  nodded  at  us^  and  his  head  continued 
moving  up  and  down. 

"My  friend,"  said  Don  Eugenio,  "may  pleasant  days 
await  you  in  Jalapa." 

We  could  hear  them  singing,  with  emotion,  that 
romance  by  Juan  Melendez  Valdes: 


THE  HOUSE  OF  THE  FIGHTING-COCKS     173 

"Welcome,  welcome,  lovely  rain, 

The  refreshment  of  our  valleys. 

You  are  bringing  us  abundance 

As  you  pass  along  the  land." 

"Forgive  me  for  intruding,"  said  my  master,  "but 
I  hope  that  you  are  not  a  follower  of  Epicurus.  How 
magnificent  is  our  religion  which  proclaims  that  they 
are  blessed  who  suffer.  And  that  is  why  the  Epicurean 
loses  faith  in  religion.  Blessed  are  those  who  mourn, 
my  friend.  It  is  sorrow  which  tests  and  awakens  the 
generous  sentiments;  it  arms  against  pleasure;  it 
fertilizes." 

And  the  song  continued: 

"Beautifully  you  bring  life 
To  the  flowers  which  are  bursting 
To  receive  you,  which  no  longer 
Can  remain  within  the  bud." 

Suddenly  Don  Bartolme  Robledo  shook  his  fist  at 
my  good  master.  "You  torment  me!"  he  exclaimed. 
"You  are  the  children  of  the  devil,  you  and  she  and 
all  of  them!  And  why  have  you  come  here  to  mock 
me?  Do  you  think  that  you  are  doing  good,  for- 
sooth?" 

Don  Eugenio  sat  down  beside  the  angry  man.  He 
laid  a  hand  upon  his  leg  and  looked  at  him  with  tears 
in  his  blue  eyes. 

"Well,  well,  is  it  not  so?"  said  the  Captain. 

"The  good  which  I  can  do,"  said  Don  Eugenio, 
"talking  to  you  is  perhaps  extremely  small.  I  would 
to  God  that  it  were  different.  It  may  be  that  great 
benefits  come  out  of  grief,  but  when  our  heart  is  flut- 
tering against  its  barriers  the  heavens  seem  to  shrink 


174    THE  HOUSE  OF  THE  FIGHTING-COCKS 

around  us  and  we  break  our  heart  against  another 
cage.  My  friend,"  said  Don  Eugenio,  with  a  smile  of 
brave  encouragement — a  tear  was  passing  down  his 
cheek,  he  let  it  pass — "my  friend,"  said  he,  "however 
gray  and  poor  the  world  may  seem  to  you,  I  wager  that 
to  scores  of  other  people  it  is  .  .  ." 

"How  much  will  you  wager?"  asked  the  Captain. 

"H ombre!  you  have  killed  the  shadows,"  said  my 
master.  "You  have  a  mightier  sword  than  this  one," 
said  he,  as  he  touched  the  Captain's  weapon. 

"But  I  say  the  world  is  .  .  ." 

"Let  us  listen  to  the  music,"  said  my  master. 

We  could  hear  the  voices  overhead  and  the  guitar. 
They  sang  with  fervor: 

"Oh,  the  colors  are  more  radiant 
Than  the  pearls  of  your  bestowing, 
And  the  ground  on  which  you  break 
You  adorn  with  diamonds." 

"After  all,"  said  Don  Eugenio,  "we  should  be  grate- 
ful, you  and  I,  for  those  who  sing  to  us.  Have  you 
not  seen  old,  venerable  men  who  crown  themselves 
with  vine-leaves  and  go  capering  about  a  village,  while 
the  merciful  and  righteous  people  yearn  to  veil  their 
eyes  and  sometimes  veil  them?  Surely  if  the  young 
had  .  .  ." 

And  the  song  continued: 

"Come  down,  come,  you  shall  appease 
The  hunger  of  the  dusty  field. 
What  you  touch  will  dance  again 
And  old  age  will  be  forgotten." 

"If  the  young  had  been  more  natural,  more  joyous," 
said  my  master,  "then  the  old  would  have  been  satisfied 


THE  HOUSE  OF  THE  FIGHTING-COCKS     175 

to  play  their  part  and  listen.  What  a  worthy  picture 
we  present,"  said  Don  Eugenio,  "we  two  old  men  who 
sit  here  on  the  bench  and  .  .  ." 

"Is  that  why  you  came?"  the  Captain  said. 

And  just  then  I  saw  the  lieutenant  at  the  window. 
He  put  both  his  arms  upon  the  wood-work  and  gazed 
downwards.  He  was  smiling.  And  before  my  master 
answered  Don  Bartolme  I  saw  Enriqueta  also.  She 
stood  there  beside  her  friend,  she  leaned  against  him, 
and  she  signaled  to  me  several  things  and  very 
amiably. 

I  think  if  Don  Bartolme  asked  his  question  in  all 
innocence  he  quickly  grew  suspicious,  owing  to  my 
master  not  replying.  It  may  be  his  question  took  my 
master  unawares,  but  on  the  other  hand  perhaps  it  was 
that  Don  Eugenio  did  not  deign  to  tell  a  falsehood,  for 
he  was  the  noblest  and  the  most  illustrious  of  men. 

"Aha,"  the  Captain  cried.  "I  know  exactly  why 
you  came.  We  are  two  brothers!"  And  he  put  his 
arm  around  my  master's  neck,  and  with  his  other  hand, 
a  bony,  yellow  hand,  he  stroked  my  master  on  the 
cheek.  I  could  not  bear  the  way  in  which  Don  Bar- 
tolme was  laughing. 

But  the  dignified  expression  of  my  master  was  as 
great  as  it  was  wonderful. 

"Now,"  babbled  the  old  man,  "now  tell  your  little 
brother  what  you  thought  that  you  would  do." 

The  pair  above  were  listening  most  eagerly. 

And  when  my  master  spoke — not  making  any  effort 
to  remove  the  two  obnoxious  hands  of  Don  Bartolme — 
he  was  very  grave.  "In  ancient  times,"  said  he,  "it 
used  to  be  considered  arrogant  for  any  one  to  make  a 
loud  enumeration  of  his  sins,  except  when  the  conceal- 
ing of  them  might  involve  the  guiltless.  I  have  no 
desire,  however,  to  be  shielded  by  that  custom  of  the 


176    THE  HOUSE  OF  THE  FIGHTING-COCKS 

Jews.  They  had  another  salutary  precept,  recommend- 
ing criminals  to  make  confession  at  a  distance  of  ten 
cubits  from  the  place  where  they  were  to  be  executed. 
I  believe  I  am  within  that  distance  of  the  object  on 
account  of  which  I  sinned,  and  so  I  will  confess.  But, 
first  of  all,  it  has  been  said  that  evil  is  a  necessary 
thing  if  moral  beings  are  to  do  good  works  and  to  be 
good.  If  evil  then  be  necessary,  is  it  not  justifiable? 
Can  we  condemn  what  must  be?  If  a  thing  is  neces- 
sary is  it  not,  in  a  sense,  good?" 

"Oh,  that  is  talking  like  the  devil!"  said  Don 
Bartolme. 

"I  was  coming  to  that,"  said  my  master,  "for  in 
your  invective,  if  you  will  remember,  you  denounced, 
not  only  me  but  Enriqueta  and,  I  think,  everybody 
else  as  being  children  of  the  devil.  Have  you  medi- 
tated on  the  devil,  Don  Bartolme?  Look  at  his 
position.  He  is  given  certain  qualities,  lust,  foulness, 
concupiscence,  and  the  others  which  they  tell  him  he 
must  exercise;  because  it  is  essential  that  there  should 
be  opposition  between  fair  and  foul,  between  wisdom 
and  folly,  so  that  human  beings  may  achieve  this  or 
that  other  virtue.  It  is  only  by  a  wound  that  a 
caress  is  understood,  and  we  are  put  into  this  transi- 
tory world  that  we  may  understand  the  value  of  the 
world,  which  is  eternal.  So  the  devil,  with  his  evil 
attributes,  is  playing  a  tremendously  important  part." 

"Oh,  yes!"  cried  Don  Bartolme,  in  excitement.  He 
looked  like  a  faithful  dog  which,  in  the  middle  of  a 
long,  long  sentence,  hears  a  word  it  understands. 

"And  all  the  time,"  said  Don  Eugenio,  "the  devil 
knows  how  indispensable  he  is,  for  his  superior  intelli- 
gence is  always  vaunted;  even  by  the  hostile  critics  it 
is  said  to  be  not  less  in  volume  than  his  peccability. 


THE  HOUSE  OF  THE  FIGHTING-COCKS     177 

Now  what  would  happen  if  he  should  decline  to  play 
his  part?" 

The  Captain  shook  his  head.  "Who  knows?'"  quoth 
he.  "Who  knows  what  then  would  happen  .  .  .  Oh, 
by  the  holy  saints,  he  would  no  longer  trouble  us  and 
we  should  all  be  glad.    Yes,  that  is  it!" 

"There  can  be  no  light  if  there  is  no  darkness,"  said 
my  master,  "seeing  that  it  is  impossible  to  think  of  any 
light  which  does  not  illuminate.  Darkness  alone  is 
capable  of  being  lit.  Without  darkness  the  light  would 
have  no  opposition  it  can  work  upon,  that  is  to  say, 
it  would  not  light  and  it  would  not  be  the  light  withal. 
And  so  God  cannot  work  without  the  devil.  It  is  con- 
stantly implied  in  sacred  writings  that  the  devil's  sway 
has  been  permitted  that  it  may  be  over-ruled.  More- 
over, he  is  always  being  told  that  his  power  can  be 
resisted  by  the  will  of  man,  when  aided  by  the  grace 
of  God.  Well,  suppose  that  he  should  take  into  his 
head  to  retire  from  the  business.  I  can  tell  you  that 
his  great  Opponent  would  be  very  much  embarrassed. 
Hitherto,  however,  he  has  stayed  at  work  .  .  . 

"Many  people  have  their  doubts  to-day  concerning 
this  or  that  tradition  of  our  fathers,  and  they  fre- 
quently have  said  that  I  must  follow  them,  as  if  my 
own  doubts  were  not  more  than  ample.  But  in  this 
matter  of  the  devil  I  am  very  steadfast.  I  am  with 
the  popular  beliefs  and  customs  and  practices  and  old 
tales  of  warning  and  fairy-tales  and  general  conversa- 
tion, in  all  of  which,  despite  the  efforts  to  the  contrary, 
he  plays  a  part  that  is  by  no  means  insignificant.  His 
task  it  is  both  to  direct  and  organize  the  heresies,  the 
errors,  the  superstitions,  the  fanaticism  and  indiffer- 
ence, the  enervation  of  ease,  the  dangers  of  wealth  and 
poverty  .  .  .  Let  me  ask  you,  Captain  Don  Bartolme, 


178    THE  HOUSE  OF  THE  FIGHTING-COCKS 

is  there  any  one  for  whom,  in  view  of  all  the  circum- 
stances, you  can  feel  a  sorrow  more  profound?" 

Don  Bartolme  looked  extremely  solemn. 

"Any  single  person?"  said  my  master. 

The  poor,  battered  Captain  groaned,  and,  gazing 
with  a  dull  eye  into  space,  he  said  that  he  was  very, 
very  sorry  for  himself,  "What  have  I  done,"  said 
he,  "that  I  should  have  all  these  misfortunes?  I  am 
weary  in  this  town  and  I  have  nowhere  I  can  sleep, 
and,  as  for  food,  I  have  to  beg.  How  beautiful  it  was 
in  Colorado  at  the  house  of  Pedro,  the  good  father  of 
that  boy.  He  never  stinted  me  the  beans  and  the 
sweet  oranges,  and  sometimes  part  of  the  well-peppered 
mess  or  else  the  stew  which  travelers  had  left  un- 
eaten, and  sometimes  a  soup  made  of  the  little  fishes 
they  brought  up  from  Veracruz,  and  sometimes  I  could 
put  my  finger  in  the  chocolate  his  good  wife  was  pre- 
paring with  the  goat's  milk,  and  they  never  made  me 
talk  while  I  was  eating." 

Don  Eugenio  arose  and  took  the  Captain  by  the  arm. 
"You  must  go  with  me  to  the  Noahcite's,"  said  he. 

"Yes,  very  willingly,"  said  Don  Bartolme. 

And  as  they  were  starting  I  saw  the  lieutenant  at 
the  window,  who  was  with  his  mouth  half-open,  but 
uncertain  what  to  say.  And  Enriqueta  whispered  to 
him  and  cajoled  him,  and  he  shut  his  mouth. 

My  master  and  the  Captain,  arm  in  arm,  walked  up 
the  street.  And  I  had  never  seen  the  Captain  limp  so 
grievously,  not  even  when  he  had  been  following,  an 
hour  ago,  the  horse  of  Enriqueta.  That  old  sword  of 
his  made  such  a  shrill  noise  on  the  pavement. 


CHAPTER  XIV 

There  can  be  no  doubt  that  if  we  had  remained  in 
Don  Arcadio's  house  the  poor  old  Captain  would  have 
been  provided  with  a  home.  But  on  the  morning  after 
his  arrival  Don  Arcadio  stalked  into  my  room  and 
bade  me  follow  him.  He  told  me,  on  the  way,  that 
our  departure  for  the  State  of  Tamaulipas  would  no 
longer  be  delayed,  and  as  we  reached  the  library  he 
pointed  to  that  ancient  map  which  hung  upon  the  wall. 

"The  time  has  come,"  said  he,  "when  I  must  make 
investigations  there,  because  the  people  of  this  country 
seem  to  be  more  agitated,  and  if  I  can  give  them  gold 
they  may  not  think  so  much  of  revolution  as  of  other 
things." 

I  gazed  at  him  and  at  the  map. 

"You  naturally  will  object,"  said  he,  "that  gold  may 
lead  them  to  commit  iniquities,  which  are  as  bad  as 
revolutions.  On  the  other  hand  it  may  persuade  them 
to  employ  the  arts  of  peace;  and  I,  at  any  rate,  will  be 
regarded  with  considerable  gratitude,  and  for  my  few 
remaining  years  of  life  will  be  allowed  to  work  without 
the  constant  fear  of  molestation.  We  will  go  next  week 
to  Tamaulipas." 

"Shall  we  have  a  camp,"  I  asked,  "like  soldiers?" 

"Yes,  and  soldiers  to  bring  back  the  gold,"  said  Don 
Arcadio.  "The  governor  has  promised  me  an  escort 
if  I  give  him  a  proportion  of  the  gold.  I  have  learned 
a  lesson  from  that  Spanish  lady  who  was  bringing 
silver  from  the  mountains  many  years  ago  and  was 
afraid  she  would  not  reach  the  coast  in  safety.    When 

179 


i8o    THE  HOUSE  OF  THE  FIGHTING-COCKS 

the  governor  heard  of  this  he  offered  her  the  shelter 
of  his  house,  and  she  went  in  with  all  her  mules.  He 
comforted  her  very  much  and  told  her  that  her  fears 
were  altogether  useless^  and  in  the  night  he  murdered 
her  .  .  .  But  what  I  wish  to  talk  about/'  said  Don 
Arcadio,  "is  not  the  sad  experience  of  this  lady  nor 
the  expedition  we  are  going  to  make,  but  rather  to 
make  sure  that  you  appreciate  the  glories  of  geology. 
Since  you  and  Don  Eugenio  have  been  with  me  it  so 
has  happened  that  we  have  devoted  a  good  deal  of  time 
to  liquid  gold  and  other  matters,  which  are  not  without 
a  deep  importance,  but  which  may  have  caused  you,  my 
dear  Juanito,  to  forget  the  fundamental  facts  which 
move  me  onwards.  Geology,  in  short,  is  the  greatest 
of  all  sciences,  because  it  leads  me  to  the  greatest  goal 
which  any  mortal  man  has  ever  struggled  for.  It 
teaches  us  of  what  this  earth  is  made,  and  very  soon  I 
hope  to  know  precisely — and  if  all  the  substances  can 
be  reduced  to  one,  of  course,  my  task  will  be  much 
easier — and  when  I  know  precisely  what  is  in  the  earth 
I  shall  have  ascertained  what  lay  in  Noah's  head.  He, 
like  all  other  men,  was  made  of  earth.  And  when  I 
know  what  lay  in  Noah's  head  I  shall  have  all  the 
knowledge  of  which  man  is  capable,  and  therefore  all 
the  happiness,  and  then  I  shall  proceed  to  pour  this 
happiness  on  our  distracted  country.  But  I  have  not 
brought  you  here,"  he  said,  "to  talk  of  all  these 
things.'' 

I  hoped  that  he  would  now  dismiss  me,  for  I  wanted 
to  search  out  old  Captain  Bartolme,  who  was  below 
this  very  roof. 

"It  has  occurred  to  me,"  said  Don  Arcadio,  "not  that 
you  doubt  the  wisdom  of  my  life's  pursuit,  but  that 
you  may  not  grasp  it  as  completely  as  I  would  desire. 
And  if  you  happened  to  be  questioned  by  a  band  of 


THE  HOUSE  OF  THE  FIGHTING-COCKS     i8i 

skeptics  you  might  be  unable  to  allay  their  skepticism; 
they  might  laugh  at  both  of  us.  And  that  is  why  I 
think  it  well  to  give  you  a  short  exposition  of  the 
Nature  of  Matter.  I  request  you,  Juanito,  not  to  pay 
attention  to  those  plausible  philosophers  who  say  that 
we  are  in  a  world  of  mere  illusion  and  that  nothing, 
neither  you  nor  I  nor  Mexico,  does  really  exist.  How- 
ever fascinating  be  that  doctrine  I  am  naturally  up  in 
arms  against  it,  for  it  would  destroy  my  work.  The 
structure  would  come  falling  round  my  ears  ...  As 
I  have  told  you  several  times,  true  happiness  springs 
out  of  knowledge  and  complete  human  happiness  can 
be  reached  by  knowing  what  the  world  is  made  of. 
Therefore,  if  it  turns  out  to  be  made  of  nothing,  of 
appearances,  of  things  that  in  our  blindness  we  be- 
lieve we  see,  then  it  would  follow  that  our  human 
knowledge  is  no  more  than  vanity,  and  that  our  happi- 
ness— no!  no!" 

He  started  pacing  up  and  down  the  room.  "My 
search  for  happiness,  my  search  for  happiness,"  he 
muttered.  And  he  glared  at  me  and  was  a  long  time 
growing  calm. 

At  last  he  stopped  in  front  of  me  and  said  that  he 
would  tell  me  of  some  precious  stones  and  what  they 
signified  to  ancient  folk.  "As  I  have  mentioned,"  said 
the  Noahcite,  "all  matter  may  be  one,  and  therefore, 
to  avoid  the  risk  of  wasting  time,  we  will  devote  our- 
selves not  to  the  composition  of  these  stones  but  to 
their  inherent  qualities,  and  surely  this  is  of  extreme 
importance.  Well,  it  was  decided  that  the  twelve 
stones  of  the  New  Jerusalem  have  each  of  them  a 
meaning  in  accordance  with  their  color,  and  it  is  re- 
markable how  accurately  all  their  attributes  were 
known  to  experts  such  as  Bonaventura  and  Richard  of 
Megenberg.    The  former  has  divided  the  twelve  stones 


i82     THE  HOUSE  OF  THE  FIGHTING-COCKS 

in  groups  of  four  which  represent  the  virtues  of  Chris- 
tian perfection.  For  example,  in  the  second  group  the 
emerald  is  hope  for  the  forgiveness  of  sins,  the  sar- 
donyx is  hope  for  mercy  and  the  sard  is  hope  for 
eternal  bliss.  And  the  religious  symbolism  of  the 
stones  was  not  by  any  means  fantastic,  for  it  sprang 
from  their  medicinal  and  celebrated  qualities.  It  is 
quite  true  that  Albertus  Magnus,  who  was  a  most 
enviable  pantologist,  that  is  to  say,  a  person  who  em- 
braced all  knowledge,  found  himself  obliged  to  argue 
with  the  people  who  expressed  their  doubts  as  to  the 
healing  power  of  stones.  And  then  this  wise  man  gives 
in  utmost  detail  all  the  multitudinous  powers  which 
reside  in  them,  while  Richard  of  Megenberg  deduces 
this  power  from  the  stone's  symbolical  meaning.  Thus 
the  green  jasper,  says  he,  which  strengthens  the  body, 
stands  for  that  belief  which  strengthens  the  soul.  And 
with  regard  to  the  emerald,  he  informs  us  that  it  repre- 
sents modesty  and  that  it  will  break  in  two  if  a  sin 
against  love  is  committed  in  its  presence,  and  thus  it 
has  the  power  to  restrain  such  evil  deeds.  Albertus 
Magnus  goes  so  far  as  to  assert  that  it  cannot  bear  the 
matrimonial  intercourse  of  married  people,  since  a 
King  of  Hungary  possessed  a  stone  which  broke  upon 
his  finger  while  he  was  embracing  the  Queen.  Yet  I 
know  nothing  of  Hungarian  amours  .  .  .  But  you,  my 
son,  are  not  without  some  knowledge  now  of  one 
branch  of  geology." 

With  that  he  waved  me  to  the  door.  And  I  ran 
quickly  up  to  Don  Eugenio's  room. 

He  was  engaged  in  talking  to  Maria,  very  earnestly, 
and  she  was  sitting  on  the  floor  and  with  her  head 
against  his  knee.  When  I  came  in  my  master  did  not 
cease  discoursing,  "If,  on  the  other  hand,"  said  he, 
"the  Noahcite  will  not  allow  you  to  go  with  us  on  this 


THE  HOUSE  OF  THE  FIGHTING-COCKS     183 

expedition  which  to  me  is  most  repellent,  but  from 
which  I  cannot  well  excuse  myself,  then  you  will  either 
wait  here  till  such  time  as  we  return,  if  that  indeed  be 
God's  desire,  or  you  will  go  your  way.  If  only  there 
lay  any  value  in  my  blessing,  I  would  give  it  you, 
Maria,  from  the  bottom  of  my  heart.  What  can  I  do 
except  to  pray  that  you  will  fall  into  more  worthy 
hands  than  mine?  At  least  I  saved  you  from  the  wild 
lieutenant." 

She  looked  up  at  him  most  tenderly. 

"In  front  of  our  young  friend,"  said  Don  Eugenio, 
"we  need  not  change  the  subject  of  the  conversation. 
We  began  by  talking  about  love,  and  Juanito  may  be 
grateful  to  us,  in  the  days  to  come,  when  he  first  is 
troubled  with  a  woman.  Let  him  know  that  women,  if 
they  run  away  from  you  or  if  you  conquer  them,  are 
always  man's  great  enemy." 

"But,  sefior,"  said  Maria,  "why  do  you  say  that?" 

"Dear  girl,  I  trust  that  you  will  never  know  one  half 
the  damage  you  will  do  to  men.  It  may  be  answered 
that  the  men  who  seize  or  who  attempt  to  seize  you 
are  pernicious  fellows  anyhow,  but  if  they  are  not 
punished  for  this  crime  I  should  reject  that  part  of 
Holy  Scripture  which  relates  the  punishment  of  Judas 
Iscariot  and  for  a  sin  which  he  was  fated  to  commit. 
Some  people  are  less  fortunate  than  others,  that  is  all. 
And  you,  my  children,  must  at  any  rate  not  fall  into 
the  sin  of  thinking  that  our  Maker  is  unjust  or  cruel." 

"Oh,  no,  no,"  she  said  most  gravely,  "and  let  Him 
not  be  cruel,  Don  Eugenio,  to  you  for  having  seized 
me." 

Then  there  came  into  my  master's  face  a  look  of 
grand  nobility.  "Indeed,"  quoth  he,  "there  is  no 
greater  culprit  in  this  land." 

Maria  flung  herself  against  him  and  she  pressed  her 


i84    THE  HOUSE  OF  THE  FIGHTING-COCKS 

fingers  on  his  lips.  "Oh,  do  not  speak  like  that!"  she 
cried.  "You  are  not  wicked  and  you  did  not  seize 
me.  It  is  I  who  came  to  dwell  with  you.  And  God 
knows  that,  of  course." 

Don  Eugenio  smiled  and  gently  took  her  hands 
away.  "He  also  knows/'  said  he,  "that  my  one  con- 
solation is  the  thought  that  from  the  greatest  sinners 
come  the  greatest  saints;  repentance  is  the  frame  of 
mind  which  God  prefers  in  us  because  the  Devil  hates 
it  most.  And  by  the  way,"  said  Don  Eugenio,  "I 
should  like  to  tell  you  of  Saint  Mary  the  Egyptian, 
who  is  the  patron  saint  of  all  those  who  repent.  Her 
example  we  can  keep  before  us;  but  even  if  we  have 
the  courage  and  the  opportunity  to  wander,  as  she  did, 
for  so  many  years  in  the  desert,  I  am  doubtful  as  to 
whether  our  transgressions  would  be  so  completely 
washed  away  that  another  Zozimus,  of  eminent  virtue, 
would  approach  us  and  would  humbly  ask  our  bless- 
ing. Also  I  am  doubtful  whether,  in  this  different  age 
of  ours,  we  should  not  have  to  tread  the  wilderness  for 
more  than  Mary's  seven  and  forty  years  and  still  not 
meet  a  man  as  perspicacious  and  benevolent  as  Zozi- 
mus. How  many  persons  nowadays  would  give  their 
mantle  to  a  miserable  penitent  whose  body  has  be- 
come entirely  black,  whose  hair  falls  to  the  shoulders 
and  is  white  as  wool,  whose  garment  is  the  robe  of 
innocence?  Alas,  it  is  an  age  of  lesser  sinners  and  of 
lesser  saints.  As  the  saying  goes,  it  is  the  lesser  saints 
who  will  be  the  ruin  of  God;  and  I  fear  He  looks 
askance  upon  the  lesser  sinners.  But  if  we  live  in 
narrow  circumstances  we  must  still  continue,  we  must 
try  to  leave  our  little  garden  better  than  when  we 
received  it,  we  must  not  spend  all  our  time  in  thinking 
of  old,  medieval,  spacious  gardens  which  have  disap- 
peared for  ever." 


THE  HOUSE  OF  THE  FIGHTING-COCKS     185 

Don  Eugenio  had  spoken  the  last  sentence  with 
solemnity,  and  now  he  sat  there  sunk  in  thought,  until 
Maria,  speaking  not  a  word,  put  down  her  head  and 
kissed  his  hand. 

"Ah,  well,"  said  Don  Eugenio,  "this  thinking  about 
love  has  made  us  melancholy.  And  although  I  said 
that  love  is  perilous  to  women  and  more  perilous  to 
men,  the  greatest  danger  is  to  stop  and  spend  our  time 
in  thinking  of  it.  I  believe  that  it  is  better  for  a  man 
to  do  evil  boldly  than  to  think  of  evil,  better  to  live 
than  to  think  about  life  and  better  to  snatch  at  love 
with  both  his  hands  than  merely  to  dream  of  it.  .  .  . 
Now,"  said  he  to  Maria,  "I  do  not  want  you  to  look 
sad." 

"But  when  you  are  not  here  to  talk  to  me,  when  I  go 
back  into  my  village  and  can  understand  what  every- 
body says — dear  God,  I  wish  I  could  go  with  you." 

"Well,  well,  and  what  news  have  you?"  said  Don 
Eugenio  to  me.  "If  it  is  bad,  your  patience,  let  me 
tell  you,  is  quite  contrary  to  precedent." 

I  told  him  that  I  had  been  learning  from  the  Noah- 
cite  about  some  precious  stones,  and  that  all  men  are 
made  of  earth  and  that  he  didn't  want  me  to  believe 
some  plausible  philosophers,  and  that  that  was  all  I 
could  remember. 

"Wait  until  I  have  him  for  a  whole  day  riding  by 
my  side  to  Tamaulipas,"  said  my  master.  "I  will 
demonstrate  to  him  how  horribly  he  is  in  error  when 
he  says  that  men  are  made  of  earth.  But  now  you 
and  I  will  go,"  said  he,  "to  spend  another  happy  day 
among  our  books.    God  knows  what  is  in  store  for  us." 

We  made  our  way  into  the  room  above  the  stable, 
where  by  this  time  my  good  master  had  collected  a  fair 
quantity  of  books  and  manuscripts  belonging  to  the 
Noahcite.    The  larger  part  of  them  did  not  deal  with 


i86    THE  HOUSE  OF  THE  FIGHTING-COCKS 

geology,  for  they  had  been  in  Don  Arcadio's  possession 
from  the  days  when  he  did  not  restrict  himself  to  this 
one  science.  Yet  as  we  were  eating  Don  Arcadio's 
bread  and  salt,  my  master  said  it  would  be  less  than 
honorable  if  v,^e  spent  a  day  without  devoting  part  of 
it  to  Roger  Bacon's  treatise.  And  I  recollect  how  on 
that  morning  we  began  methodically,  Don  Eugenio 
transcribing  sentences  in  his  large,  lucid,  somewhat 
ornamental  hand,  while  every  now  and  then  he  told 
me  of  a  Latin  word  which  was  not  yet  in  my  vocabu- 
lary. So  we  came  to  the  word  jumant,  "they  are 
smoking,"  which  was  in  a  paragraph  about  volcanoes. 

"Et  jam  summa  procul  villarum  culmina  jumant,'* 
said  my  master,  "by  which  Virgil  means  that  evening 
approaches.  Oh,  my  son,"  said  he,  "if  we  were  not 
about  to  undertake  this  dreadful  journey  we  would 
read  a  book  of  that  great  poet.  Et  jam  summa — and 
what  smoke  shall  we  find  of  an  evening  except  the 
smoke  of  ravished  villages?  .  .  .  Old  Virgil,  he  was 
innocent  and  amiable  and  peaceful,  rather  like  his 
writings,  so  that  he  attracted  me,  for  I  was  so  unlike 
him;  I  could  always  hear  a  tempest  blowing  round  the 
corner,  even  when  I  had  for  years  been  in  the  bishop's 
library.  I  cannot  help  it,  talking  of  the  distant  days, 
now  that  I  am  to  be  pulled  up  again  where  I  had  taken 
root,  and  this  time  I  shall  not  survive  it."  As  he  said 
these  words  his  voice  was  very  valiant  and  his  coun- 
tenance was  flushed. 

Perhaps  he  saw  how  great  my  longing  was  to  rise 
against  these  words  and  bury  them  and  let  them  never- 
more come  out  into  the  light. 

"Ah,  well,"  said  my  beloved  master,  "there  was 
something  else  in  Virgil  which  I  used  to  think  was  not 
unlike  me,  that  is  the  desire  to  lead  a  contemplative 
life.    It  was  a  labor,  sometimes  a  delightful  labor,  for 


THE  HOUSE  OF  THE  FIGHTING-COCKS     187 

him  to  write  poetry;  but  he  was  never  able  to  leave 
off,  and  so  far  I  may  say  I  have  resembled  him,  since 
I  have  not  been  able  to  leave  off  from  mixing  with 
another  sort  of  poetry  which  is  the  crowd  of  men. 
The  idea  to  write  a  book  has  come  to  me,  but  I  was 
always  either  too  indolent  or  too  busy.  Well,  I 
wonder  what  sort  of  book  I  would  have  written.  .  .  . 
If  only  those  men  were  to  write  who  have  a  new 
philosophical  theory  of  life,  then  even  Virgil  would 
have  had  to  keep  quiet." 

At  this  moment  we  were  interrupted  by  Faustino. 
We  had  not  heard  him  coming  up  the  stairs,  since,  in 
accordance  with  his  usual  habit,  he  was  barefoot. 
Still  we  might  have  heard  his  breathing,  which  was 
very  loud.  And,  though  he  had  a  face  which  never 
could  show  much  expression,  any  one  could  see  that 
he  was  most  intensely  agitated.  For  example,  his  eyes, 
which  I  had  never  noticed,  had  the  look  of  a  poor  dog 
which  does  not  understand  why  it  is  being  whipped. 
The  corner  of  his  bluish  under-lip  was  quivering. 

"But  calm  yourself,"  said  Don  Eugenio,  "so  far  as  I 
can  help  it  no  harm  shall  befall  your  master." 

"The  whole  country  is  full  of  robbers!"  cried 
Faustino.    "We  shall  certainly  be  killed." 

"Then  I  shall  only  take  one  pair  of  boots,"  said  Don 
Eugenio. 

Faustino  blinked  at  him.  "But — but,"  said  he,  "and 
if  the  jefe  of  the  region  should  arrest  us  he  will  make 
us  build  a  road  or — I  ask  your  pardon,  would  you  like 
to  hear  what  happened  to  a  friend  of  mine  who  was 
a  very  upright  comrade  and  a  good  tailor?  But  I 
am  not  sure  if  you  would  like  to  hear  of  him."  Faus- 
tino's  agitation  was  now  giving  way  to  deep  despon- 
ency. 

My  master  wished  to  render  him  more  cheerful. 


i88    THE  HOUSE  OF  THE  FIGHTING-COCKS 

Therefore  he  assured  him  that  he  was  most  curious  to 
hear  about  this  friend  of  his. 

"But,  woe  is  me,  I  have  forgotten  what  his  name 
was,"  said  Faustino. 

"Call  him  Juan  or  Tomas  or  whatever  you  like," 
said  my  master. 

"Thank  you,"  said  Faustino,  "but  if  I  am  false  in 
that  you  would  say  I  am  false  in  the  whole  story."  He 
displayed  as  yet  no  sign  of  cheerfulness. 

"Now  listen  to  me,  Faustino,"  said  my  master, 
smiling  at  him  in  the  most  friendly  fashion.  "You 
can  truly  give  him  any  name  you  like,  whether  it  be 
a  Spanish  name  or  a  Mexican  or  that  of  any  other 
people  under  the  sun — I  promise  you  it  will  not  inter- 
fere with  my  enjoyment  of  the  story.  Did  you  hear 
what  happened  to  Gazielle,  the  French  officer  who  was 
captured  with  all  his  men  near  San  Pedro  in  the  State 
of  Sinaloa,  about  two  years  ago,  and  dragged  into  the 
town  amid  the  wild,  enthusiastic  shouting  of  the  popu- 
lation? Well,  they  say  that  in  his  papers  there  were 
found  a  dozen  copies  of  a  document  which  he  was 
going  to  fasten  up  at  the  casa  municipal  and  some 
other  public  buildings  of  San  Pedro;  in  this  document 
he  gracefully  acknowledged  the  enthusiasm  which  had 
greeted  him  on  all  sides  as  he  rode  in  triumph  through 
the  town.  .  .  .  But  the  story  would  be  just  the  same, 
to  me  at  all  events,  if  I  were  to  call  the  officer  Dubois 
or  Doucet  or  Gamelle.  So  I  beg  you  to  have  no  more 
scruples  with  the  name  of  your  friend  the  good  tailor." 

Faustino  nodded  and  he  slowly  rubbed  his  chin.  He 
looked  like  soldiers  do,  I  should  imagine,  when  they 
find  they  have  been  lured  into  an  ambuscade,  that 
they  are  in  a  marsh  and  that  their  legs  are  sinking 
irretrievably.  It  seemed  to  poor  Faustino  that  a 
million  names,  of  all  the  ages  and  of  all  the  countries, 


THE  HOUSE  OF  THE  FIGHTING-COCKS     189 

beautiful  and  ugly  names  and  sacred  names,  were 
hanging  all  around  him^  ready  to  be  plucked.  He  told 
me  afterwards  that  it  was  like  a  forest  with  the  fruits 
suspended  from  a  thousand  branches  and  across  each 
of  the  fruits  its  name  was  written;  he  did  not  know 
where  to  look,  for  he  was  so  confused,  and  from  a 
certain  tree  there  hung  a  number  of  large  yellow  fruits 
and  on  them  in  black  letters  you  could  see  the  names  of 
Satan,  every  fruit  with  one  of  his  innumerable  names; 
for  Satan,  said  Faustino,  is  in  this  respect  alone  like 
God,  that  he  possesses  many  names,  as  any  one  can 
hear  who  listens  to  a  learned  priest,  Faustino  had 
himself,  he  told  me,  had  the  great  advantage  at  Jalapa 
of  a  Spanish  priest  whose  eloquence  was  marvelous 
and  whose  terrific  voice  could  make  the  devils  in  you 
run  away.  This  priest  was  such  a  learned  man  that 
he  had  penetrated  Satan's  numerous  disguises  and  he 
would  attack  him  in  his  sermons  now  by  this  name, 
now  by  that;  thus  with  his  beautiful  and  mighty  elo- 
quence he  called  down  curses,  very  often,  on  Sammael 
and  Beelzebub  and  Lucifer  and  Belial  and  Luzbel,  on 
the  Enemy,  the  Persecutor,  on  the  Lord  of  Darkness, 
the  Accuser,  on  the  Tempter  and  the  Contradictor, 
the  Prevaricator,  the  Malicious  One,  the  Rebel,  on 
Agromanyus  and  Ahriman  and  Abaddon  and  Apollyon. 
Many  of  these  names,  Faustino  said,  were  written  on 
the  yellow  fruit  which  hung  before  his  eyes. 

"Shall  I  begin  your  story?"  said  my  master.  "Shall 
we  talk  about  the  sad  adventures  of  your  friend  the 
tailor  who  was  apprehended  by  the  jefe?'* 

"And  he  was  in  truth  most  skilful  as  a  tailor,"  said 
Faustino. 

"But  the  jeje  had  a  grudge  against  him,"  said  my 
master. 

"Seiior  Don  Eugenio,"  said  the  man,  "you  know 


190    THE  HOUSE  OF  THE  FIGHTING-COCKS 

the  ways  of  magic,  you  have  read  the  story  which 
I  have  inside  me.  And  you  know  the  fate  of  my 
poor,  miserable  friend,  how  he  was  forced  to  help  the 
builders  of  a  road  who  were  bad  persons  out  of  prison 
with  a  guard  of  other  bad  ones,  who  were  soldiers, 
watching  them.  And  he  was  made  to  labor  at  this 
work  because  the  jeje  of  the  place  desired  his  woman." 

''Your  friend  was  not  married?"  asked  Don 
Eugenio. 

"It  would  not  have  saved  him." 

"Perhaps  not  on  earth,"  said  Don  Eugenio.  "Yet 
one  must  also  think  of  heaven." 

"But  in  heaven  there  will  be  no  jejes,"  said  Faus- 
tino.  "As  for  this  one,  he  desired  the  woman,  and  so 
furiously  that  he  seized  the  poor  Gregorio  and  made 
him  build  the  road  with  all  those  other  villains  and 
unhappy  men." 

My  master  rose,  walked  over  to  Faustino  and,  in 
the  most  sympathetic  way,  he  patted  him  upon  the 
back.  "It  does  you  every  honor,"  so  he  said,  "that 
you  should  be  afflicted  by  your  friend's  misfortunes. 
But  before  you  came  young  Juanito  and  myself  were 
having  a  discussion  about  Virgil,  and,  with  all  respect 
to  your  style  of  narration,  which  has  merits  of  its  own, 
I  cannot  help  lamenting,  for  your  sake,  that  it  is  not 
more  like  Virgil's,  since  it  then  would  have  a  greater 
chance  of  permanent  survival,  and  for  Juanito's  sake, 
at  all  events,  I  will  endeavor  to  examine  how  the  Latin 
poet  would  have  told  it." 

Don  Eugenio  cleared  himself  a  little  space  upon  the 
table,  and  was  in  the  act  of  sitting  down  upon  it  when 
Faustino  spoke. 

"If  your  worship  will  pardon  me,"  he  said,  "it  is 
the  truth  which  I  have  told  you,  and  I  think  that  not 
even  a  friend  of  your  worship's  can  do  more." 


THE  HOUSE  OF  THE  FIGHTING-COCKS     191 

"You  are  an  honest  fellow,"  said  my  master.  "And 
yet  one  can  be  sure  of  this,  that  if  two  men  give  their 
impressions  of  the  same  event  their  stories  will  not  be 
the  same,  and  in  proportion  as  the  couple  are  more 
honest  so  will  their  stories  vary  ...  I  sometimes 
think,"  said  Don  Eugenio^  "that  one  has  far  to  search 
among  created  things  in  order  to  find  differences  more 
pronounced  than  those  which  frequently  exist  between 
two  men.  But,  doubtless,  you  have  noticed  how  it 
happens  that  a  person  tries  to  put  his  own  eyes  into 
some  one  else's  head.  It  is  absurd  and  it  is  tragic  .  .  . 
We  should  be  delighted  that  we  are  so  different,  and 
that  what  is  the  truth  for  you  is  not  the  truth  for  me." 

"We  are  all  different,"  said  Faustino,  in  a  kind  of 
reverie.  "What  can  be  done?  What  is  there  to  be 
done?" 

"If  you  will  follow  my  advice,"  said  Don  Eugenio, 
"you  will  do  nothing.  And  although  you  are  the 
cleverest  man  in  all  the  world  you  will  not  make  a 
rose  be  like  a  cactus." 

"They  are  very  different,"  said  Faustino. 

Then  my  master  moistened  both  his  lips  and  said 
that  now  he  would  go  back  to  Virgil  with  the  story. 

"Your  friend  the  tailor,"  so  he  said,  "would  be  a 
heroic  person,  driven  from  his  home  by  the  pernicious 
jeje,  and  the  jefe,  after  haying  lived  awhile  with  your 
friend's  woman,  would  be  conscious  that  his  mode  of 
life  could  not  endure  for  ever,  and  in  deep  despair  he 
then  would  kill  himself." 

Faustino  rubbed  his  hands;  he  was  entirely  pleased. 

"And  there  would  be  a  great  deal  more  to  tell,"  said 
Don  Eugenio.  "The  tailor,  working  at  the  road,  would 
fall  into  a  kind  of  sleep  and  would  behold  the  gods, 
who  made  this  country  with  such  prodigality  and  splen- 
dor, come  on  snow-white  horses  down  the  road.     Be- 


192    THE  HOUSE  OF  THE  FIGHTING-COCKS 

tween  them  would  be  riding  the  heroic,  pious  tailor, 
who,  with  their  assistance,  would  establish  Mexico 
upon  a  sure  foundation." 

"Oh,  yes,  yes!" — and  then  Faustino  checked  him- 
self, his  face  fell.  "But,"  said  he,  "the  man  was  only 
one  of  my  own  friends.  How  could  he  ride  with  God 
and  do  those  other  things?" 

"If  God  desires  a  thing  it  comes  to  pass,"  said  Don 
Eugenio.  "And  the  more  impossible  it  seems  to  you 
the  purer  will  be  your  belief  if  you  believe  it.  We 
have  not  been  called  on  by  the  Church  to  put  our  faith 
in  what  we  know,  but  in  what  we  do  not  know,  and 
surely  the  acme  of  faith  is  that  which  not  only  does 
not  shrink  from  what  it  does  not  know,  but  extending 
much  further  than  that,  is  ready  to  receive  into  its 
bosom  the  phenomena  which  intellect  and  reason  and 
experience  would  unhesitatingly  reject.  So  let  us  have 
the  tailor  riding  down  the  road  to  set  this  country  on  a 
firm  foundation." 

"May  God  live  long:  May  He  live  long!"  exclaimed 
Faustino. 

"All  the  heroes  of  this  country  would  come  past," 
said  Don  Eugenio,  "and  you  would  have  a  thrilling 
story.  I  need  scarcely  say  that  it  would  fall  far  short 
of  Homer,  yet  nevertheless  even  Virgil  .  .  ." 

But  Faustino  was  quite  satisfied.  I  never  thought 
he  could  behave  in  such  a  fashion,  for  he  was  by  nature 
very  solemn,  not  to  say  depressed.  He  nearly  danced 
out  of  the  room,  and,  as  he  went,  we  heard  him  laugh- 
ing with  great,  simple  happiness  and  rendering  thanks 
to  God.  But  I  believe  he  did  not  know  as  many  names 
of  God  as  of  the  Devil. 

"We  shall  now  be  able  to  go  on,"  my  master  said. 
"Oh,  do  you  realize  what  it  will  cost  me  to  leave  all 
these  books?"    He  looked  round  very  helplessly. 


THE  HOUSE  OF  THE  FIGHTING-COCKS     193 

"But  if  we  are  not  killed/'  I  said,  "we  can  come 
back  to  them.  The  soldiers  will  not  steal  them,  I  am 
sure." 

"And  if,  indeed^  we  are  killed — well,  why  should 
we  drag  our  dearest  fellow-travelers  with  us?  No! 
no!  no! "  He  tossed  his  head  back  and  he  looked  most 
gallant. 

Then  I  asked  him  if  he  knew  why  we  should  share 
the  fate  of  that  poor  tailor,  since  there  was  no  jeje 
who  was  hostile  to  us.  Did  it  not,  I  asked,  seem  fool- 
ish of  Faustino  to  hold  up  for  us  the  story  of  a  man 
whose  life  was  so  unlike  our  own. 

"Maria  is  a  very  worthy  girl,"  my  master  said.  "I 
hope  with  all  my  heart  that  she  will  not  come  into 
wicked  hands." 

And  then  we  worked  for  several  hours  in  Don 
Eugenio's  peculiar  way.  He  once  had  told  me  that 
the  kisses  of  true  love  are  turned  to  butterflies,  and 
now  as  he  went  wandering  from  one  book  to  another, 
fondling  them  and  talking  at  random_,  he  did  really 
seem  to  be  a  large,  benignant  butterfly. 

And  when  that  day  was  over  and  the  house  was 
dark,  I  crept  out  of  my  room  and  made  for  Don 
Eugenio's  door.  This  would  be  one  of  my  last  love- 
nights  with  Maria. 

He  was  snoring  very  regularly  and  I  knocked,  but 
there  was  no  reply.  Perhaps  Maria  was  asleep  herself. 
I  knocked  again_,  and  then  with  every  care  I  turned 
the  handle  of  the  door.  I  opened  it  just  wide  enough 
to  let  me  in.  There  I  could  see  her,  sitting  in  the 
moonlight  on  her  bed.  She  waved  her  hand,  as  if  she 
wanted  me  to  go  away.  The  moonlight  also  fell  upon 
the  placid  face  of  Don  Eugenio.  He  was  murmuring 
while  he  slept. 

I    stood   there   for   a   long   time,   making   various 


194    THE  HOUSE  OF  THE  FIGHTING-COCKS 

motions  with  my  arms  and  head,  entreating  her  and 
ordering  her  and  threatening  her,  but  she  was  obsti- 
nate. She  made  it  clear  to  me  that  she  was  filled  with 
love  for  Don  Eugenio.  She  bent  over  him  as  if  she 
were  his  mother.  When  she  looked  at  me  she  was 
imperious,  commanding  me  to  leave  the  room  at  once. 

As  I  drew  nearer  to  the  bed  her  face  became  con- 
torted and  I  looked  away  from  her. 

"In  the  name  of  God,"  she  whispered,  "take  yourself 
away!" 

Her  voice  was  not  much  louder  than  the  voice  of 
Don  Eugenio,  but  I  could  not  hear  what  he  said,  at 
least  I  could  not  hear  distinctly. 

I  went  a  step  nearer  to  his  smiling  face  and  she 
glared  round  at  me  as  if  she  were  indeed  a  savage 
thing.  And  I  could  hear  a  word  or  two  of  what  he 
said  and  then  he  made  some  incoherent  sounds.  It 
had  no  sense,  but  when  she  gazed  at  him  there  came 
into  her  rigid  face  the  sweetness  that  there  was  in  his. 

And  if  at  last  he  had  not  murmured  Enriqueta's 
name,  I  think  Maria  never  would  have  come  with  me. 


CHAPTER  XV 

On  the  second  morning  after  this  I  was  awakened 
by  the  noise  of  horses  and  of  men;  the  men  were 
shouting  and  were  knocking  with  their  weapons  on  the 
doors.  I  did  not  stop  to  think  of  what  might  happen 
to  me  as  I  ran  across  and  threw  the  window  open. 
It  was  barely  hght  enough  to  see  what  was  this  troop 
which  filled  the  street  and  cursed  and  shouted,  riding 
east  and  riding  west  in  terrible  confusion,  some  who 
flogged  their  horses,  some  who  had  dismounted.  But 
I  knew  that  this  was  part  of  the  Imperial  army,  since 
the  sound  of  foreign  voices  mingled  with  the  others. 

As  they  rattled  on  the  doors  and  on  the  iron 
window-bars  I  was  surprised  that  not  a  single  one  of 
the  inhabitants  appeared,  and  as  for  me,  I  thought  it 
would  perhaps  be  better  if  I  partly  closed  the  window. 
Then  I  knelt  down  on  the  floor  in  a  position  where  they 
scarcely  could  have  seen  me,  and  I  watched  them  with 
a  rapt  attention.  They  were  quarreling  with  one 
another,  even  firing  at  each  other,  and  it  looked  as  if  it 
all  would  end  in  death.  But  gradually  most  of  them 
moved  on  to  other  streets — there  was  a  torch  lit  very 
near  the  house,  I  was  afraid  that  some  of  them  in 
vengeance  would  destroy  us^  but  I  found  the  torch 
was  fixed  upon  a  table  of  green  cloth  and  several  men 
were  taking  from  a  carriage  the  equipment  for 
roulette.  These  carriages,  with  bankers  and  with 
croupiers,  were  accustomed  to  attach  themselves  to 
armies  of  importance.  And  as  soon  as  it  was  ready 
for  them  the  calm  players  took  their  seats  and  certainly 

195 


196    THE  HOUSE  OF  THE  FIGHTING-COCKS 

they  made  a  favorable  contrast  with  the  frantic  horse- 
men. As  the  play  proceeded;  a  few  horsemen  rode 
back  through  the  street  and  stopped  their  horses  near 
the  table,  so  that  they  could  watch  the  players,  and  they 
seemed  intensely  interested. 

Now  and  then  a  man  who  played  would  look  up  and 
address  a  horseman,  but  some  others  of  the  gamblers 
were  so  much  absorbed  that  they  did  not  turn  round, 
they  merely  struck  a  blow  at  any  horse  who  laid  his 
mouth  upon  their  shoulder.  In  fact,  the  scene  was 
such  a  peaceful  one  that  I  was  not  afraid  of  anything; 
I  went  down  to  the  street.  With  some  manoeuvering 
I  managed  to  get  in  between  the  horsemen  and  the 
players,  and  I  stopped  there  for  I  do  not  know  how 
long,  but  while  the  daylight  made  the  torch  grow  pale 
and  strange — they  did  not  put  it  out — and  by  this  time 
a  crowd  of  the  inhabitants  had  gathered  round.  One 
of  the  horsemen,  who  was  French,  perceived  this  and 
admonished  them. 

"A  hospitable  folk! "  he  cried.  "We  march  for  many 
leagues  all  through  the  night,  we  march  along  your 
execrable  roads,  we  that  have  sacrificed  ourselves  in 
order  to  bring  harmony  to  your  distracted  land — we  do 
all  this,  and  when  we  knock  upon  your  doors  you  keep 
as  quiet  as  the  dead.    Oh,  gratitude  and  hospitality!" 

"What  are  they  all  but  pigs?"  said  another 
Frenchman. 

A  very  unsuccessful  player,  who  was  a  Mexican 
colonel,  asked  these  two  to  speak  no  more,  as  it  dis- 
turbed his  play.  A  Frenchman,  who  was  sitting  at  his 
side,  removed  the  colonel's  fire-arm  very  dexterously. 

"You  Mexicans  and  Spaniards,  you  are  all  the 
same!"  said  the  angry  horseman.  "You  with  your 
fine  phrases!  For  example,  'Sir,  my  house  and  wife 
and  children  are  at  your  entire  disposal.'  .  .  .  Are  you 


THE  HOUSE  OF  THE  FIGHTING-COCKS     197 

not  ashamed  to  welcome  honorable  men  with  such 
deception  and  such  lies?  It  is  the  same  with  every- 
thing. God,  what  are  my  transgressions  that  they 
brought  me  here?" 

The  colonel  banged  his  fist  on  the  green  table  and 
declared  that  this  could  not  be  borne.  And  various 
other  players  growled  at  him  and  at  the  Frenchman. 

''My  dear  sir,  allow  me/'  said  the  colonel,  with  a 
tremor  in  his  voice,  "allow  me  to  inform  you  that  we 
have  no  leisure  at  this  moment  to  attend  to  your 
transgressions.  Stop  your  mouth,  I  pray  you.  And  I 
have  no  doubt  that  we  poor  innocents  of  Mexico  might 
learn  a  great  deal  from  the  lurid  things  you  have 
committed." 

Then  a  gaunt  and  weary-looking  Austrian  friar,  who 
was  in  the  midst  of  the  spectators  at  the  other  side  of 
the  green  table,  lifted  up  his  arm  and  solemnly  called 
on  the  whole  assemblage  to  restrain  their  passions. 

"Amen,  amen!"  said  the  banker  who  presided. 
"You  are  officers  and  cavaliers,  and  let  it  not  be  said 
against  you  that  you  failed  in  the  deportment  which 
is  customary  round  our  table.  I  am  sure,"  quoth  he, 
"that  I  shall  not  appeal  in  vain  to  so  illustrious  a 
gathering." 

But  as  he  spoke  it  seemed  as  if  his  table  might  be 
overturned.  The  Frenchman  of  transgressions  was 
endeavoring  to  make  his  horse  go  sideways  towards 
the  colonel,  and  his  rough  words  were  directed  both  at 
his  opponent,  at  the  sallow  banker,  at  the  priest,  at  his 
own  friends  who  grasped  the  bridle  of  his  horse  and 
at  the  whole  of  Mexico,  which  was,  he  said,  accursed. 
Some  other  Mexicans  and  foreigners  were  growHng  at 
each  other,  but  they  did  not  come  to  blows. 

The  banker  stood  up  in  his  place.  "My  gentle- 
men," said  he,  "let  us  remember  always  that  we  are 


198    THE  HOUSE  OF  THE  FIGHTING-COCKS 

the  army  of  the  Empire.  We  may  not  permit  our- 
selves the  license  and  the  barbarism  of  the  Liberals. 
I  say  that  in  us  lies  the  great  privilege  of  showing  all 
the  world  that — that — in  fine,  we  are  not  Liberal 
barbarians,  by  any  means.  My  comrades  of  the 
cause!  Let  us  conduct  ourselves  in  such  a  way  that 
Mexico  may  be  exalted  and  that  all  the  foreigners  may 
venerate  this  land  of  heroes!" 

''What  an  imbecile!"  exclaimed  the  Frenchman,  who 
was  struggling  still  with  his  opponents. 

"Seiior,"  said  the  colonel,  wheeling  round,  "I  have 
to  tell  you  that  I  perfectly  agree  with  you.  Indeed, 
you  are  a  man  with  all  five  senses.  But  this  imbecile, 
with  his  deafening  bombardment  of  speech,  should  be 
a  deputy." 

Some  of  the  people  laughed,  and  the  antagonism 
they  had  shown  for  one  another  was  evaporating. 

But  the  banker  stood  there  with  a  look  of  quiet  reso- 
lution. It  was  a  considerable  time  before  the  noise 
of  laughter  and  the  shouts  of  approbation  died  away, 
because  a  certain  number  of  the  players  and  spectators 
made  these  noises  for  the  purpose  of  restoring  oeace. 
At  last  the  banker  spoke  again : 

''My  gentlemen,"  said  he,  "let  us  give  our  attention 
to  roulette." 

Then  he  sat  down  and  took  a  handful  of  the  coins 
which  were  by  his  side.  As  he  allowed  them  to  fall 
clattering,  one  by  one,  on  to  the  pile  he  looked  round 
at  his  customers  most  cheerfully.  He  asked  a  servant 
to  put  out  the  torch,  and  that  was  wise  of  him,  since 
it  had  given  to  the  scene  a  kind  of  desperate  appear- 
ance, and  I  daresay  a  good  many  people,  if  by  chance 
they  happen  to  look  villainous,  comport  themselves 
like  villains. 

With  the  light  extinguished  they  all  settled  down  to 


THE  HOUSE  OF  THE  FIGHTING-COCKS     199 

solid  play.  And  presently  my  friend,  the  sweetmeat- 
seller,  came  amongst  us  and  announced  what  he 
brought  with  him.  He  was  urgently  invited  by  a 
Frenchman  to  go  back  in  search  of  coffee,  and  the 
banker  said  that,  on  the  contrary,  he  would  himself 
provide  what  was  appropriate.  He  nodded  to  his 
servant,  who  appeared  to  understand  completely,  and 
the  play  continued.  In  the  interval,  before  the  coffee 
and  the  other  things  arrived,  some  of  the  players  took 
the  opportunity  of  bowing  to  the  banker,  one  of  them 
got  up  and  heartily  embraced  him.  And  a  little  later, 
as  the  cups  were  being  handed  round,  the  banker  stood 
up  once  again  and,  holding  out  the  palms  of  his  delicate 
hands,  said  that  it  gave  him  a  great  pleasure  to  be  in 
the  midst  of  such  a  sympathetic  gathering.  The  Im- 
perial army,  he  was  sure,  would  cause  the  chant  of 
freedom  to  reverberate  through  the  remotest  territory 
of  the  Mexican  dominion,  it  would  give  a  fearful  lesson 
to  its  despicable  foes,  who  were  devoid  of  shame. 

"History,"  he  said — and  he  was  obliged  to  speak 
loudly  in  order  to  be  heard  above  the  noise  of  drinkers 
and  of  eaters — "history  has  already  consecrated  her 
pages  to  you;  she  will  record  to  posterity  your  valiant 
deeds.  O  warriors  of  this  beloved  country,  you  who 
do  not  shrink  from  sacrifices  and  from  arduous  toil, 
it  is  at  your  hands,  flourishing  the  sword  of  liberty  and 
justice,  that  the  foeman  will  be  gloriously  cut  in  pieces 
and  delivered  to  the  vultures.  I  perceive  that  what  I 
say  has  your  esteemed  approval.  Gentlemen,  that  is 
an  honor  which  assuredly  is  great,  my  heart  is  throb- 
bing— but  all  this  I  would  relinquish  utterly  if  I  could 
bring  a  throb  into  the  hearts  of  our  immortal  comrades 
who  are  dead.  Surviving  such  misfortunes,  we  have 
consecrated  and  shall  ever  consecrate  ourselves  to 
peace  and  order.    We  it  is  who  choke  and  strangle  all 


200    THE  HOUSE  OF  THE  FIGHTING-COCKS 

dissension  .  .  .  Thank  you^  gentlemen  of  the  trium- 
phant and  august  Imperial  army,  thank  you  for  re- 
ceiving my  remarks  into  your  favor.  When  I  am  a 
deputy — and  I  may  tell  you  that  the  patriotic  Govern- 
ment has  promised  to  confer  this  post  upon  me — then 
I  shall  inform  the  nation  in  the  House  of  Congress  of 
your  brilliant  merits.  Also,  if  it  is  not  situated  in  a 
territory  which  is  too  remote,  I  shall  proceed  in  person 
to  the  place  of  which  I  am  the  deputy  and  there  I  shall 
discourse  of  you." 

There  was  a  great  clapping  and  waving  of  hands. 
But  the  Mexican  colonel  had  lost  so  much  money  that 
he  was  impatient  for  the  game  to  start.  "Once  we  are 
upon  the  road/'  he  pointed  out,  "we  shall  not  have  a 
chance  of  playing.  Gentlemen,"  said  he,  addressing 
his  French  colleagues,  "you  must  not  judge  Mexico 
from  what  it  is  at  this  unhappy  moment  when  there  is 
no  time  for  comfort  and  when,  to  some  extent,  our 
civilization  has  been  destroyed." 

He  raised  his  cup,  and,  while  he  held  it  to  his  lips, 
the  sallow  banker  seized  his  opportunity  of  making 
a  few  more  remarks.  ^'Ay  de  mi,  ay!  ay!"  he  cried, 
so  that  everj'body's  gaze  was  on  him.  "Circumstances 
have  been  such,"  said  he,  "that  Mexico  is  slightly  over- 
clouded, but,  as  I  was  saying,  we  are  mindful  of  our 
sacred  obligations.  We  will  never  let  the  broad  fields 
of  Otumba  nor  the  fields  of  La  Ventilla  have  upon 
them  the  disgraceful  boot  of  an  oppressor.  We,  I  say, 
will  never  sheathe  the  sword.    And  we  .  .  ." 

"What  I  was  going  to  say,"  burst  in  the  colonel, 
"is  that  in  the  famous  days  it  was  our  custom  to  live 
as  a  man  should  live,  which  is  at  leisure.  Now  we 
have  to  hasten  through  the  land  with  the  rebellious 
pigs  in  front  of  us  or  else  behind  us.  Ah,  the  famous 
days!     We  used  to  call  a  halt  and,  underneath  the 


THE  HOUSE  OF  THE  FIGHTING-COCKS    201 

shadow  of  some  tree,  without  dismounting  from  our 
horses,  we  played  monte.  Gentlemen,  I  must  apolo- 
gize that  all  these  famous  days  have  gone  .  .  .  Now 
it  is  very  seldom  that  we  have  a  moment  for  the  good 
amenities  of  life.  To  be  a  soldier  in  this  country  is 
a  great,  an  almost  unendurable  fatigue.  We  have  so 
much  to  do  .  .  .  But  let  the  game  begin." 

He  asked  a  person  sitting  opposite  to  lend  him  money 
and  he  planted  a  good  deal  of  it  upon  the  table. 

While  he  did  this  and  while  other  players  were  pre- 
paring to  resume,  the  banker  cleared  his  throat  and, 
looking  towards  the  distant  range  of  mountains,  he 
spoke  rather  rapidly,  as  if  it  were  a  speech  that  he  had 
learned  by  heart;  but  every  one  was  occupied,  in  one 
way  or  another,  so  that  he  was  scarcely  listened  to. 

"An  unendurable  fatigue,"  he  said.  "Across  Chi- 
huahua's windy  desert  and  across  the  swamps  and 
jungles.  Such  it  is  to  be  a  soldieV.  .  .  .  Gentlemen, 
it  is  to  be  prepared  for  everything,  it  is  to  stand 
behind  a  tree  in  all  the  pain  of  hunger,  till  the  foe 
comes  by  whom  you  must  kill  ...  it  is  to  barricade 
oneself  upon  a  roof  and  stay  there  though  the  sun 
descends  in  all  his  fury  ...  it  is  to  ride  through  every 
sort  of  country,  to  be  jerked  upon  a  blind  horse  or  to 
have  no  horse,  and  then  to  spend  the  freezing  night 
upon  a  rock,  to  make  in  one  day  two  days'  marches 
and  perhaps  retreat  to-morrow — ordered  here  and 
ordered  there — and  in  one  village  there  are  roses  round 
his  neck  and  in  another  village  it  is  death  that  waits 
for  him  and  bitter  death,  without  a  priest  .  .  .  dying 
on  his  blanket  with  a  Liberal  bullet  in  him  .  .  .  after 
all  his  faithfulness  and  beautiful  ideals  he  obtains  the 
wretched  death  of  Liberals,  and  he  may  find  himself 
not  separated  from  the  Liberals  in  the  life  to  come. 
That  is  the  reward  of  his  long  nights  when  he  was 


202    THE  HOUSE  OF  THE  FIGHTING-COCKS 

frozen  and  of  his  wounds  that  would  not  heal  and  of 
the  vigilance  and  of  the  loyalty  and  of  the  hope  he 
never  lost  .  .  .  Who  is  that  priest?"  he  said.  "At  all 
events  this  is  no  evil  city.  They  have  not  chased  out 
the  priests." 

The  gambling  had  begun^  but  several  persons  looked 
in  the  direction  of  this  priest^  who  was  no  priest  at  all, 
but  Don  Eugenio.  And  he  was  walking  up  the  hill  as 
fast  as  possible. 

"He  is  not  dressed  as  if  he  were  a  priest,"  the 
banker  said,  "and  the  blood  also  which  oozes  from  his 
forehead  is  unsuitable.    But  I  am  sure  of  him." 

If  I  could  only  have  got  through  the  circle  I  would 
have  run  down  to  my  good  master,  but  I  had  to  stay. 
And  in  these  minutes  of  my  anguish  all  the  crowd  was 
swept  with  joy,  because  the  colonel  had  such  luck  as  I 
had  never  seen  before.  His  pile  of  money  grew  just 
like  the  white  flowers  leaping  from  a  fairy's  garden; 
every  one  was  pleased,  for  he  had  been  so  out  of 
fortune. 

And  when  my  master  was  quite  near  the  crowd  he 
raised  his  voice  and  told  them  to  beware.  He  said  it 
twice,  with  such  a  fearful  note  of  warning  that  I  was 
astonished  they  did  not  all  stare  at  him,  and  that  a 
number  of  them  had  the  boldness  to  continue  with 
their  play. 

"But  I  told  you  that  he  is  a  priest,"  explained  the 
banker.  "Cavaliers  and  gentlemen,  my  gallant  com- 
rades .  .  ." 

"There  1"  cried  one  of  those  on  horseback,  in  a  tone 
of  horror. 

It  was  a  small  body  of  the  Liberal  troops  and  they 
were  galloping  along,  down  at  the  bottom  of  the  street, 
and  they  were  swinging  their  lassos  and  now  they 
started  simultaneously  to  howl. 


THE  HOUSE  OF  THE  FIGHTING-COCKS    203 

I  was  thrown  this  way,  that  way,  by  the  plunging 
horsemen  and  the  gamblers — if  the  croupiers  had  not 
flung  themselves  upon  the  table  it  would  certainly 
have  been  upset — the  soldiers  and  the  crowd  were  in 
a  piteous  confusion — and  another  body  of  the  Liberal 
troops  was  bearing  down  upon  us  from  the  opposite 
direction.  Several  of  the  Frenchmen  spurred  their 
horses  up  a  side-street,  and  the  other  horsemen  tried 
to  follow  them,  but  were  impeded  by  the  flying  crowd. 
I  could  not  find  my  master  anywhere,  and  then  the 
Liberals,  dressed  in  white,  with  lances  and  with  mus- 
kets, were  all  round  us,  screaming  that  we  must  hold 
up  our  hands. 

However,  there  was  just  time  for  the  colonel  to  give 
back  the  money  which  the  person  sitting  opposite  had 
lent  him.  And  that  person  glared  with  hatred  and 
with  admiration  of  the  colonel's  shrewdness. 

No  one  else  was  glaring  but  the  Austrian  priest — he 
glared  at  them  and  muttered  and  continuously  crossed 
himself.  As  for  the  croupiers  and  the  white-eyed  gam- 
blers and  the  palpitating  horseman  and  the  others,  they 
were  holding  up  their  hands  submissively,  without  one 
hostile  look  among  them.  Evidently  they  were  anx- 
ious that  the  Liberals  should  not  be  provoked  to  shoot- 
ing. Then  I  tried  to  see  what  had  become  of  that  first 
mounted  Frenchman  who  had  so  deplored  his  being  in 
our  country,  but  I  searched  for  him  in  vain  and  also 
for  the  banker.  Some  one  seized  me  by  the  arm  and 
pulled  me  out  from  all  those  people  who  were  waiting 
to  be  searched.  And  I  was  pushed  between  the  Liberal 
horses  and  against  the  neck  of  one  of  them  on  which 
a  woman  sat.  She  told  me  not  to  be  afraid,  she  would 
not  hurt  me.  Saying  that,  she  patted  me  upon  the 
head  and  gave  me  a  long  piece  of  sugar-cane,  which 
was  for  me  and  for  the  horse.    I  never  had  seen  any 


204    THE  HOUSE  OF  THE  FIGHTING-COCKS 

woman  look  so  warlike,  though  there  was  a  smile  on 
her  keen  face  and  though  her  dusty  hair  was  hanging 
down  between  her  shoulders.  I  could  not  help  staring 
at  her,  and  she  told  me  that  she  was  the  lady  of  an 
officer  and  that  she  liked  me  and  that  I  could  go  with 
them — they  were  just  in  the  middle  of  a  grand,  vic- 
torious campaign,  she  said.  "And  we  will  turn  you  into 
a  good  warrior,"  she  announced.  "Oh,  you  can  go  on 
sucking  at  the  sugar-cane  .  .  .  But^  let  me  tell  you, 
I  am  really  not  a  flower  which  comes  in  every  hundred 
years,  one  of  those  rare  ones." 

I  wanted  to  turn  round  to  see  the  business  that  was 
going  on,  but  this  extraordinary  woman  dominated  me. 

"So,  will  you  come  with  us?"  she  said.  "You  never 
will  regret  it,  and  the  captain's  wife  will  welcome  you — 
she  is  behind  us,  for  a  woman  who  is  following  on 
foot — the  woman  of  an  ordinary  soldier — stopped  to 
have  a  child  beside  the  road.  Now  run  away  and  think 
it  over.  We  shall  ride  out  of  this  town  to-night,  when 
those  who  are  on  foot  have  overtaken  us  and  had  a 
little  rest.  Oh,  it's  the  only  life  to  lead,  I  tell  you. 
God  and  Liberty!" 

When  I  had  gone  a  little  way  she  shouted  after  me 
that  if  I  was  no  fool  I  would  not  let  the  chance  go  by  of 
being  in  the  conqueror's  army.  "Don  Benito!"  she 
exclaimed.    "That  Don  Benito  Juarez  may  live  long!" 

"Juarez!  Don  Benito!  God  and  Liberty!  Down 
with  the  Church!  Death  to  the  foreigners!"  they 
shouted. 

And  they  certainly  had  conquered  this  Imperial  army 
with  great  ease.  It  was  the  first  affray  of  any  kind 
which  I  had  witnessed,  and  I  was  exceedingly  per- 
plexed. Meanwhile  my  feet  were  taking  me  to  Don 
Arcadio's  house  and  there  I  heard  the  quiet  voice  of 
my  dear  master.    He  was  at  the  stable. 


THE  HOUSE  OF  THE  FIGHTING-COCKS    205 

When  I  reached  him  he  was  telling  some  one  why 
democracy  was  this  or  that.  He  spoke  with  wisdom 
and  with  humor  and  with  eloquence  and  sadness — 
but  the  man  to  whom  he  spoke  was  in  the  little  dark 
room  underneath  the  stairs  and^  from  his  voice  when 
he  was  interrupting,  I  was  sure  that  this  must  be  the 
very  Frenchman  who  had  been  so  agitated  and  so 
angry  to  be  here  in  Mexico.  But  now  he  was  not 
angry,  Don  Eugenio  had  clearly  put  him  in  good 
temper,  or  perhaps  he  was  relieved  to  know  that  he 
could  stay  inside  the  little  room  until  the  Liberals  had 
ridden  off.  His  horse,  I  saw,  was  in  the  stable;  but 
the  bridle  and  the  saddle  he  apparently  had  taken  with 
him  into  the  dark  room. 

And  so  my  master,  with  his  bleeding  forehead  and 
his  clothes  in  great  disorder,  was  serenely  occupied  in 
laying  down  his  views  about  democracy.  He  certainly 
would  have  been  just  as  willing  to  discuss  whatever 
subject,  be  it  transient  or  eternal,  which  the  unseen 
Frenchman  might  have  raised.  He  would  have  been  as 
interested  and  as  courteous  and  as  diffident.  It  was  his 
diffidence  which  now  particularly  struck  me,  for  the 
Frenchman  as  compared  with  him  was  nothing,  was  a 
creature,  as  our  phrase  is,  with  his  tail  cut  off. 

And  when  the  Frenchman,  who  now  seemed  to  be 
quite  happy  in  the  darkness,  undertook  to  show  with 
no  more  than  the  personal  experience  of  a  friend  of 
his,  a  French  lieutenant,  that  there  was  too  much 
democracy  in  Mexico,  my  master  listened  with  the 
greatest  patience.  I  was  making  signs  to  him  that  he 
should  come  away  and  stop  his  wound  from  bleeding, 
but  he  shook  his  head. 

There  had  been  a  young  French  lieutenant  who  was 
quartered  in  the  town  of  Orizaba,  where  he  grew  ac- 
quainted with  a  family  of  high  position.    In  this  family 


2o6    THE  HOUSE  OF  THE  FIGHTING-COCKS 

were  two  young  daughters,  and  with  one  of  them  the 
Frenchman  fell  in  love.  The  parents  and  the  girl 
encouraged  him;  he  asked  his  colonel  for  permission 
and  the  French  Ambassador  as  well — these  two  in- 
quired about  the  family  and  were  extremely  satisfied, 
so  that  the  young  lieutenant  thought  it  was  as  good  as 
settled.  He  was  readily  accepted  by  the  girl,  her 
parents  acquiesced,  and  this  was  followed  instantly  by 
the  withdrawal  of  the  usual  flock  of  youths  who  had 
been  fluttering  round  her.  The  lieutenant  begged  that 
there  should  be  no  great  delay.  Again  the  parents 
acquiesced;  they  said  the  wedding  of  the  girl  and  of 
her  sister  could  be  celebrated  simultaneously.  Till 
then  the  Frenchman  had  not  known  that  there  was 
any  question  of  the  marriage  of  the  other  girl,  but  he 
was  told  that  this,  unlike  her  sister's  wedding,  was 
most  urgent,  and  the  family  seemed  to  regard  her 
future  husband  with  respectful  admiration.  He  turned 
out  to  be  the  young  lieutenant's  soldier-servant. 

My  good  master  said  that  after  all  it  was  advisable 
to  bring  this  conversation  to  a  close,  until  there  was 
no  longer  any  fear  of  being  overheard  by  some  one  in 
the  Liberal  ranks.  At  any  moment  one  or  more  of 
them  might  make  their  way  into  Ihe  stable-yard.  And 
so  he  took  his  leave  of  him,  and  Don  Eugenio  told  me 
that  we  need  not  yet  inform  the  other  people  of  the 
house.  He  fetched  a  bowl  of  water  and  then  we  went 
back  into  our  own  room.  And  while  he  was  bathing 
his  poor  forehead  he  explained  to  me  what  he  had 
learned  about  the  Liberal  plans.  They  would  not  sack 
the  town,  because  they  had  some  business  elsewhere, 
and  they  think,  said  Don  Eugenio,  that  this  town  and 
all  the  State  of  Veracruz  will  soon  come  into  their  pos- 
session. 

It   was   most   extraordinary   how   he   could   have 


THE  HOUSE  OF  THE  FIGHTING-COCKS     207 

ascertained  so  much  in  that  short  time.  I  asked  him 
if  he  had  related  it  to  our  French  officer,  but  he  replied 
that  he  believed  the  Frenchman  would  have  left  the 
country  long  before  the  Liberal  plans  were  carried  to 
success. 

My  master  dipped  a  corner  of  his  coat  into  the  watei 
and  then  held  it  to  his  head.  "What  I  should  like  to 
know,"  quoth  he,  "is  why  I  should  imagine  that  the 
Liberals  will  do  nothing^  after  their  complete  success 
which  we  have  seen  to-day." 

Then  I  repeated  to  my  master  what  the  warlike 
woman  of  the  sugar-cane  had  told  me,  that  the  Liberal 
troops  were  in  the  middle  of  a  grand,  victorious 
campaign. 

"Ah,  there  you  see,"  said  Don  Eugenio,  "how  much 
they  fail  in  discipline.  A  military  secret  should  be  kept 
beyond  all  others." 

"She  was  very  kind  to  me,"  I  added,  "and  she  asked 
me  to  go  with  them.  But,  of  course,  I  will  not  leave 
you." 

He  had  plunged  his  head  into  the  ruddy  water,  and, 
as  he  looked  up  at  me,  it  was  as  if  his  glittering  smile 
had  spread  until  it  reached  his  forehead. 

"Did  I  not  tell  you,  my  friend  Juanito,"  said  he, 
"that  the  Liberals  would  lose?  .  .  .  But  now,"  said 
he,  becoming  serious,  "now  that  my  wound  is  better 
you  shall  hear  how  it  was  given  me.  However,  I  must 
warn  you  that  the  tale  is  rather  long  and  of  a  semi- 
edifying  nature,  so  that  if  you  would  prefer  to  go  into 
the  street  and  watch  the  various  proceedings  there,  we 
will  postpone  the  tale." 

I  begged  him  to  begin. 

"Well,  in  the  first  place,"  said  my  master,  "he  who 
threw  the  thing  at  me  was  our  lieutenant,  Esteban 
Fuentes." 


2o8    THE  HOUSE  OF  THE  FIGHTING-COCKS 

"But  he  is  on  our  side!  He  is  not  a  Liberal!"  I 
cried. 

"The  missile  hit  me  just  as  hard/'  my  master  said. 
"No  doubt  if  a  dispute  does  not  go  further  than  fierce 
words,  the  missiles  of  a  friend  are  those  which  hurt 
the  most.  But  when  it  comes  to  a  large  paper-weight 
of  Puebla  onyx,  as  it  did  in  this  case,  then  the  mental 
damage  is  of  relatively  small  importance  .  .  .  Now, 
my  son,  you  have  been  living  with  me  for  some  time 
and,  even  if  I  have  not  spoken  of  them,  you  may  know 
quite  well  what  my  opinions  are  on  many  matters. 
You  may  know,  for  instance,  that  I  do  not  think  it  is 
advisable  to  warn  the  young  of  certain  conduct,  since 
they  might  then  be  deterred  from  learning  by  their 
personal  experience,  which  is  the  only  satisfying  way." 

"But  if,"  I  interrupted,  "if  a  young  man  kills  a 
Liberal  or  some  one  else?" 

"I  am  thinking,"  Don  Eugenio  said,  "of  moral  con- 
duct, but  before  now  it  has  happened  that  by  simply 
putting  somebody  to  death  a  man  has  risen,  by  re- 
pentance, to  a  height  which  he  would  not  have  scaled. 
We  used  to  have  at  Zaragoza,  in  his  lordship's  library, 
a  fat  and  lovable  small  volume  bound  in  red  morocco 
by  Derouse  and  decorated  with  the  beautiful,  broad 
dentelle  border  which  is  so  characteristic  of  this  mas- 
ter, who  also  lined  it  with  a  very  delicate  slate-blue 
silk.  In  that  delightful  book  I  found  a  good  example 
of  a  sinner  who,  by  timely  penitence,  becomes  a  saint. 
She  was  Eudoxia  of  Heliopolis,  one  of  the  fairest  and 
most  witty  women  of  her  day.  She  was  a  courtesan 
who  had  amassed  a  fabulous  amount  of  gold.  And  no 
one  would  have  claimed  for  her  that  she  was  on  th^ 
path  of  righteousness.  It  also  is  quite  possible  that 
if  she  had  been  no  great  sinner  she  would  not  have 
suddenly  set  out  upon  this  path  when  she  had  over- 


THE  HOUSE  OF  THE  FIGHTING-COCKS     209 

heard  a  dialogue  about  the  fearful  and  eternal  tortures 
that  such  people  as  herself  would  certainly  inherit. 
She  besought  a  certain  priest  to  tell  her  everything 
about  religious  matters,  and  a  week  had  not  gone  by 
before  she  was  so  well-imbued  with  them  that  in  a 
vision  she  beheld  a  place  which  was  reserved  for  her 
among  the  blessed  ones  of  God.  After  she  was  baptized 
she  retired  into  a  house  of  prayer;  but  those  who  once 
had  loved  the  sinner  felt  exasperated  with  the  penitent. 
Among  them  was  a  youthful  libertine  who  swore  he 
would  abduct  her,  and  he  came  in  the  disguise  of  a 
pious  man.  She  penetrated  the  disguise  and  he  fell 
dead  in  front  of  her,  but  then  she  interceded,  so  that 
he  was  brought  to  life  again.  And  she  did  many  other 
miracles  and  beneficial  works,  whereat  the  governor  of 
the  province,  fearing  lest  she  might  stir  up  the  people 
whose  affection  she  had  gained  by  these  good  works, 
commanded  that  her  head  should  be  cut  off.  .  .  .  So 
there  you  have,"  said  Don  Eugenio,  "a  sinner  who 
repented  and  became  a  saint.  And  if  you  want  one 
who  commited  murder  I  can  tell  you  of  Saint  Ivan  of 
the  Balkans,  who  was  a  poor  shepherd  walking  in  the 
mountains  when  he  met  a  Turk  and  slew  him. 
Nothing  else  is  known  about  this  Balkan  saint,  so  that 
his  only  merit  may  have  been  the  murder.  Naturally 
I  can  understand  those  people  who  are  not  in  sympathy 
with  this  Saint  Ivan,  but  at  any  rate  he  was  a  man  of 
good  intentions." 

'Terhaps,"  said  I,  "the  Turk  blasphemed  against 
the  Holy  Church." 

"And  yet,"  said  Don  Eugenio,  "I  am  myself  not 
overfond  of  those  who  carry  out  their  good  intentions. 
If  these  people  were  more  numerous  the  world  would 
be  a  camping-ground  of  prigs  and  other  horrors.  .  .  . 
Well,  if  those  who  were  beside  Eudoxia  in  her  child- 


2IO    THE  HOUSE  OF  THE  FIGHTING-COCKS 

hood  had  so  dinned  into  her  ears  that  one  should  not 
become  a  courtesan^  and  if  the  friends  of  the  young 
Ivan  had  effectively  impressed  upon  him  that  one 
should  not  murder,  then  these  two  would  not  have 
gone  the  way  which  ultimately  brought  them  into  great 
positions.  I  do  not  propose  to  warn  you  against 
women;  you  will  yield  to  your  desires,  Juanito,  and 
the  time  will  come  when  you  will  be  repenting  just  as 
bitterly  as  I  am  doing  at  this  moment.  I  know  very 
well  that  many  masters  do  not  speak  of  such  things  to 
their  pupils,  but  in  my  opinion  I  am  not  more  wrong 
than  is  the  nightingale  which  loves  to  sing  when  all  the 
other  birds  are  silent." 

I  entreated  him  to  tell  me  how  Don  Esteban  Fuentes 
threw  the  piece  of  Puebla  onyx. 

"As  I  stood  outside  his  house,"  said  Don  Eugenio, 
"and  it  was  dark  and  very  cold  and  there  was  falling 
this  abominable  rain  of  mist,  the  chipi-chipi,  I  assure 
you  that  if  I  had  not  remembered  some  of  the  great, 
famous  lovers  who  had  not  been  daunted  by  the 
obstacles  I  should  have  gone  straight  back  to  bed. 
Oh,  triumph  of  intelligence!  Oh,  victory  of  the 
spiritual  within  us  over  what  is  bestial !  And  to  have 
the  knowledge  that  these  ancient  heroes  did  not  live  in 
vain  and  that  with  their  assistance  we  can  rise  above 
the  sordidness  of  our  surroundings!  Juanito,  when 
the  night  was  freezing  me  and  when  the  rainy  mist 
was  all  about  me,  I  could  let  my  thoughts  be  occupied 
with  the  romantic  passion  of  Count  Claros  de  Mont- 
alban  for  Claranina,  the  Emperor's  daughter,  and  the 
grievous  obstacles  he  had  to  face;  I  could  be  thinking 
of  Cristovam  Falcao,  the  old  poet  who  was  very  faith- 
ful to  his  wife,  although  her  parents  caused  him  to 
be  shut  up  five  years  in  a  prison;  lastly,  I  could  dream 
of  the  adventures  of  Theagenes  and  Chariclea,  so  that 


THE  HOUSE  OF  THE  FIGHTING-COCKS     211 

my  unhappy  physical  environment  became  as  nothing 
and  was  swallowed  by  the  grandeur  of  my  love  for 
Enriqueta.  Such  high  thoughts  are  possible,  my  son, 
to  all  of  us  who  happen  to  be  placed  in  such  condi- 
tions and  if  you  have  perseverance  then  there  could 
be  no  defeat  for  you,  but  if  your  perseverance  is  in- 
adequate I  would  advise  you  not  to  dream  of  ancient 
lovers,  just  as  one  advises  seamen  not  to  learn  to  swim 
and  thus  prolong  their  agony. 

"Well,  I  was  brooding  with  a  full  heart  on 
Theagenes  and  Chariclea  when  the  window  of  the 
house  was  opened  and  I  saw  the  young  lieutenant. 
He  leaned  out  into  the  night,  although  it  was  so  dis- 
agreeable, and  he  removed  the  night-cap  from  his  head. 
He  muttered  a  few  bars  of  the  Paloma  song. 

"I  made  my  presence  known  to  him,  and  instantly 
he  burst  into  a  fierce  invective.  He  employed  against 
me  and  against  the  Spanish  people  and  against  my 
former  colleagues  the  librarians  a  villainous  array  of 
words,  with  most  of  which  I  was  acquainted.  It  is 
written  in  the  story  of  Theagenes  that  'The  barbarians 
are  by  nature  hard  to  turn  from  their  impulses';  and 
therefore  I  considered  that  it  would  be  best  to  make  no 
answer.  Let  him  with  his  raving  speech  exhaust  him- 
self, and  let  me  in  the  meantime  go  back  to  Theagenes 
and  Chariclea.  Has  not  Heliodorus  beautifully  told 
the  incident  when  they  were  captured  by  the  bandits? 
I  could  see  the  robber-captain  put  his  hand  upon  the 
girl  and  bid  her  rise  and  follow  him.  She  guessed  his 
meaning,  and  she  tried  to  draw  the  youth  along  with 
her  and,  putting  the  sword  to  her  breast,  she  threat- 
ened to  kill  herself  unless  they  took  both  of  them. 
The  captain,  understanding  partly  what  she  said,  and 
more  by  signs,  and  thinking  that  the  lad  would  make 
an  excellent  recruit  if  he  got  well,  dismounted,  and 


212    THE  HOUSE  OF  THE  FIGHTING-COCKS 

made  his  squire  do  the  same.  He  then  placed  the  pris- 
oners on  the  horses,  instructed  the  other  men  to  follow 
when  they  had  packed  up  the  plunder,  and  himself 
kept  up  with  the  horses  on  foot,  holding  up  also  the 
girl  or  the  youth  if  either  of  them  was  slipping  off. 
This  incident  meant  something,  for  the  captain  seemed 
to  be  a  servant  and  the  captor  was  choosing  to  wait 
upon  his  captives.  To  such  a  degree,  says  Heliodorus, 
can  dignity  and  beauty  master  even  a  robber  and  gov- 
ern the  roughest  of  men! 

"While  I  was  considering  this,  Don  Esteban  Fuentes 
grew  more  violent.  It  is  extraordinary  that  he  did 
not  wake  up  all  the  neighbors.  I  reflected  that  if 
happily  I  could  discuss  the  situation  with  him  in  a 
calm  and  reasonable  manner  I  was  not  without  some 
arguments  in  my  defense  that  would  appeal  to  him 
and  that  would  cause  us  very  possibly  to  separate  as 
friends.  I  therefore  settled  to  wait  there  in  patience 
till  that  moment  should  arrive.  It  would  be  so  much 
better  than  to  have  him  in  the  morning  stride  with 
unabated  fury  through  Jalapa  and  shout  everywhere 
a  most  malicious  and  exaggerated  and  most  odious 
account  of  this  my  indiscretion.  Thus  I  let  my 
thoughts  go  back  to  Heliodorus,  the  romantic  bishop, 
and  of  what  he  said  concerning  dignity  and  beauty 
which  can  master  even  robbers  and  can  govern  a 
rough  man. 

"I  saw  the  noble  Chariclea  in  her  great  distress, 
when  they  had  traveled  to  the  swamp,  and  she  was 
flung  into  a  hut  to  spend  the  night;  I  heard  how  she 
addressed  Apollo,  saying  that  he  punishes  our  sins  too 
hardly.  'What  we  have  gone  through,'  she  said,  'is 
not  sufficient  for  thy  vengeance, — that  we  have  lost 
our  friends,  that  we  have  been  taken  by  pirates,  in 
danger  at  sea  a  thousand  times,  taken  again  by  robbers 


THE  HOUSE  OF  THE  FIGHTING-COCKS    213 

on  land, — but  what  we  have  to  expect  is  worse  than 
the  past.  Where  wilt  thou  stay  all  this?  If  thou 
wilt  end  it  with  an  honorable  death,  it  is  well;  but  if 
any  one  is  to  take  from  me  more  than  I  have  yet 
granted,  even  to  Theagenes,  I  will  forestall  the  out- 
rage by  hanging  myself,  and  so  I  will  preserve  myself 
pure  even  to  death,  and  I  will  take  with  me  my  chas- 
tity as  a  splendid  winding-sheet.' 

"  'Thou — thou — thou — devastator  of  my  house,' 
roared  the  lieutenant.  'It  is  well  for  thee  that  I  have 
not  a  musket  in  this  room — thou  most — thou 
most  .  .  .' 

"After  all,  I  meditated,  we  do  not  possess  within 
us  an  unlimited  supply  of  phrases  and  a  golden  phrase 
belongs  to  all  the  world,  so  that  it  would  be  foolish 
to  find  fault  with  Heliodorus  for  employing  that  one 
of  the  chastity  which  is  a  splendid  winding-sheet,  a 
phrase  which  had  been  used  by  Dionysius  the  Elder, 
tyrant  of  Syracuse,  and  revived  by  Theodora,  the  con- 
sort of  Justinian  the  First. 

"At  that  moment  Esteban  Fuentes  actually  said  that 
I  was  the  most  dangerous  of  men  and  that  no  girl 
was  safe  from  me.  Alas!  he  made  me  think  of  long 
ago,  when  I  was  different.  I  was  not  incommoded 
then  by  this  majestic  body,  I  was  graceful  and  as 
slender  as  the  Indians  who  now  regard  me  with  the 
eyes  of  admiration  as  I  slowly  move  along  the  streets 
— just  as  they  regard  a  man  whose  chin  they  cannot 
see  behind  his  beard.  There  was  a  time  when  I  was 
able  to  ignore  the  years — a  floating  bird,  another  bird, 
far  overhead — and  now  they  are  a  pack  of  vultures 
who  are  watching  m,e,  the  shadow  of  their  wings  op- 
presses me.  But  I  am  talking  in  a  fashion  which  does 
not  go  well  with  my  majestic  and  prosaic  body.  .  .  . 
I  felt  that  it  was  cruel  of  the  young  lieutenant  to 


214    THE  HOUSE  OF  THE  FIGHTING-COCKS 

remind  me  of  those  days — an  old  man,  doubtless, 
should  be  grateful  that  he  is  not  older — and  if  I  had 
possessed  the  strength  of  will  I  would  have  answered 
him.  I  was  so  miserable  with  the  thought  of  my  old 
age  and  my  infirmities  that  I  could  not  prevent  myself 
from  weeping.  I  was  weeping  for  the  dear  delights 
which  would  return  no  more. 

"  'Ah!'  cried  the  young  lieutenant,  'you  perceive  the 
error  of  your  ways  and  you  repent.' 

"I  only  wanted  to  be  left  alone  with  my  sad  thoughts 
and  in  the  general  misery  of  the  night.  The  rain  of 
mist  was  like  a  brother  to  my  tears,  and  in  the  black- 
ness and  the  cold  about  me  I  could  hide  myself  and 
not  be  noticed. 

"  'So  it  is  I,'  said  the  insufferable  lieutenant,  'who 
have  brought  you  to  repentance.'  He  seemed  rather 
sorry  for  me. 

"But  I  could  not  tolerate  him  any  longer.  I  would 
not  give  way  to  mere  abuse,  as  he  had  done,  but  I 
would  speak  to  him  with  dignity.  What  I  proposed 
to  do  was  to  remind  him  that,  above  such  miserable 
creatures  as  himself  and  me,  there  was  the  everlasting 
word  of  God.  A  little  time  before,  when  I  was  con- 
scious only  of  Don  Esteban  Fuentes  and  myself,  I 
managed,  with  the  help  of  those  old  famous  lovers, 
to  retain  my  dignity  and  my  composure;  now  when 
I  was  conscious  also  of  Almighty  God — what  could 
I  do? 

"Don  Esteban  invited  me  to  come  this  evening  to 
a  farewell  feast,  and  I  accepted,  Juanito,  for  myself 
and  you,  and  let  us  take  the  poor  French  officer." 

"I  am  very  glad,"  said  I,  "that  you  forgave  Don 
Esteban  Fuentes." 

"Some  of  the  invectives  he  assailed  me  with  were 
picturesque,"  said  Don  Eugenic. 


CHAPTER  XVI 

But  our  Frenchman  was  unable  to  go  with  us  to  the 
feast.  That  afternoon  the  warlike  lady  of  a  Liberal 
officer — we  never  knew  which  of  the  officers  it  was — 
came  marching  into  Don  Arcadio's  house  to  tell  me 
that  I  could  go  with  them,  as  she  had  suggested.  If 
I  followed  her  advice,  she  said,  I  would  not  hesitate. 
And  she  remarked  in  her  deep  voice  that  I  ought  to 
be  flattered  at  the  way  in  which  she  had  remembered 
me,  but  she  was  one  of  the  most  steadfast  women 
of  the  land,  she  said.  I  was  to  think  it  over  carefully 
while  she  walked  round  the  house.  When  she  came 
back  she  had  the  Frenchman  with  her.  He  was  carry- 
ing his  horse's  bridle  and  the  saddle,  and  he  seemed 
in  a  great  hurry  to  be  gone.  So  did  the  woman.  At 
the  same  time,  said  the  officer,  he  would  not  care  to 
go  without  returning  thanks  to  Don  Eugenio  and  also 
to  the  owner  of  the  house,  whom  he  had  not  yet  seen. 
And  could  I  find  these  gentlemen  and  could  I  find 
some  food  and  could  I  run  about  the  town  in  order 
to  be  sure  that  every  Liberal  had  departed?  Then 
they  told  me  that  they  were  in  a  tremendous  hurry, 
and  I  fetched  my  master,  Don  Arcadio,  Faustino  and 
Maria  and  old  Captain  Bartolme.  And  I  was  so 
much  interested  that  I  did  not  go  into  the  town,  but 
stayed  to  listen.  I  suppose  that  as  these  two,  the 
warlike  woman  and  the  Frenchman,  passed  so  rapidly 
and  so  completely  from  us  and  became  the  phantoms 
of  two  people  who  had  been  beside  us  for  a  day,  I 
ought  not  to  write  much  about  them,  though  my  mas- 
ter used  to  say  that,  whatever  might  occur  in  the 

215 


2i6    THE  HOUSE  OF  THE  FIGHTING-COCKS 

hereafter,  we  were  all  of  us  of  equal  unimportance  in 
this  world  of  phantoms. 

Till  the  moment  when  they  met,  the  officer  had  been 
resolved  to  sail  from  Veracruz  on  any  vessel  he  could 
catch;  I  do  not  know  precisely  what  had  been  the 
woman's  resolutions.  But  they  were  determined  now, 
they  told  us,  to  betake  themselves  to  an  estate  belong- 
ing to  the  woman,  where  a  factory  could  be  erected 
near  the  waterfall,  and  thus  a  fortune  could  quite 
easily  be  made. 

I  was  astonished  that  she  had  divulged  all  this  and 
that  the  factory  had  been  arranged  so  quickly. 

"It  will  be  a  profitable  thing/'  the  Frenchman  said. 

"And  patriotic  also,"  said  the  woman.  "If  we  had 
more  factories  in  Mexico  there  would  be  far  less  idle- 
ness and  poverty  and  discontent  and  revolution." 

"We  shall  have  a  huge  success,"  the  Frenchman 
said.  "At  present  one  is  under  the  necessity  of  draw- 
ing calico  and  cloth  and  wool  and  many  iron  goods 
from  Europe,  while  the  powder  and  the  bullets  that 
you  make  are  miserably  bad  as  well  as  dear.  It  is  for 
us  to  make  both  these  commodities,  the  powder  and 
the  bullets,  satisfactorily." 

They  told  us  more  about  their  schemes  and  some  one 
said  that  if  all  Mexican  antagonists  would  imitate  them 
and  go  into  partnership,  there  soon  would  be  no  coun- 
try half  as  peaceful. 

But  the  Frenchman  waved  his  forefinger  from  side 
to  side  and,  with  a  very  knowing  smile,  he  said  they 
would  have  customers  enough  for  powder  and  for 
bullets. 

And  the  woman  said  her  husband  would  be  pleased 
when  he  came  back  to  his  estate — for  it  was  his — and 
found  that  there  was  so  much  money  for  him. 

And  Faustino  muttered  to  himself  that  this  was  a 


THE  HOUSE  OF  THE  FIGHTING-COCKS    217 

far  better  and  more  usual  and  less  risky  way  of  get- 
ting gold  than  to  go  down  for  it  into  the  State  of 
Tamaulipas. 

When  the  couple  rode  away  I  followed  them,  in 
dread  lest  anything  should  happen,  but  I  think  the 
people  of  the  town  believed  the  woman  had  been  looted 
by  the  Frenchman  and  they  merely  shrugged  their 
shoulders  at  his  curious  taste  and  said  that  foreigners 
were  very  strange. 

But  as  for  me,  I  thought  old  Captain  Bartolme  was 
stranger  still,  because  when  Don  Eugenio  and  myself, 
that  evening,  were  going  to  the  feast,  he  said  that  he 
would  likewise  go.  He  said  that,  at  the  risk  of  being 
murdered,  he  must  see  his  old  friend  Enriqueta  once 
again.  Now  we  were  all  upon  the  point  of  separation 
— God  knew  what  He  had  in  store  for  us.  And  so  he 
came,  while  Don  Arcadio  and  Faustino  and  Maria 
stopped  at  home. 

My  master  walked  between  us,  and  his  observations 
were  of  notable  lucidity: 

"We  are  going  to  a  farewell  feast,"  he  said,  "because 
our  patron  wishes  to  go  on  a  journey  in  pursuit  of  gold. 
I  think  it  is  quite  probable  that  he  will  find  some  gold, 
since  he  already  has  abundance  of  it.  But  from  what 
I  know  of  him  he  will  forget  to  share  the  spoil  with 
us;  if  I  request  a  small  amount,  so  that  I  shall  not 
be  completely  destitute  in  the  few  years  which  I  may 
live,  he  probably  will  make  me  drink  ten  fortunes  in  a 
soup,  so  that  I  may  have  everlasting  life.  The  mad- 
ness of  our  patron  and  his  blasphemy  are  terrible 
afflictions,  but  the  qualities  which  make  me  look  upon 
this  expedition  with  foreboding  are  his  beautiful  de- 
tachment and  his  exaltation.  I  have  come  into  a  time 
of  life  when  the  material  things  are  of  importance,  and, 
so  far  as  I  can  see,  the  best  that  I  can  hope  for  from 


2i8    THE  HOUSE  OF  THE  FIGHTING-COCKS 

this  journey  is  that  I  will  add  to  my  experience,  which 
is  already  more  than  ample.  I  know  very  well  how 
grand  I  should  appear  if  I  could  face  the  grievous 
prospect  with  a  smile,  as,  under  other  circumstances, 
did  the  early  Christian  martyrs.  But  I  am  doubtful 
whether  it  is  in  me  to  hold  out  until  the  time  for  start- 
ing. And  I  feel  that  now  the  moment  has  arrived 
when  I  must  overeat  and  overdrink  myself,  which  is 
assuredly  permitted  if  your  purpose  is  a  noble  and  a 
philosophic  one.  In  this  way  I  shall  suffocate  the 
growing  weakness  that  I  have  within  me.  I  shall  make 
myself  insensible.  And  even  when  my  body  would 
revolt  I  shall  continue,  if  the  physical  and  if  the  moral 
pain  is  great  I  shall  continue,  so  that  it  may  quite 
obliterate  my  mind  and  all  its  fears." 

Old  Captain  Bartolme  was  looking  sad  and  happy  at 
the  same  time,  but  far  happier  than  I  had  seen  him 
look  of  late.  "Ah,  yes,"  said  he,  "I  have  not  yet 
forgotten  the  good  food  and  drink  with  which  the 
father  of  this  Juanito  entertained  me.  I  have  eaten 
them  in  memory — the  well-fried  chickens  and  the 
chocolate  with  goat's  milk  and  the  small  white  pyra- 
mids of  grease  and  the  delicious  cakes  of  honey  and 
the  ducks — those  poultry-men  who  walk  about  Jalapa 
and  exclaim:  'Ducks,  oh  my  soul,  hot  ducks!'  I  swear 
they  never  knew  how  I  regarded  those  of  Father  Pedro. 
Have  you  heard,  senor  my  comrade,  what  the  feast 
will  be  to-night?    I  am  a  storm-tossed  vessel  .  .  ." 

"So  am  I,"  said  Don  Eugenio.  "But  are  you  going 
with  us  into  Tamaulipas?" 

The  old  man  shrugged  his  shoulders.  "I  am  igno- 
rant," he  said,  "of  what  will  happen  to  me." 

"You  are  to  be  envied,"  said  my  master. 

So  they  went  on  talking  of  what  they  would  do  that 
night  and  afterwards,  but  not  with  one  word  did  they 


THE  HOUSE  OF  THE  FIGHTING-COCKS    219 

mention  Enriqueta.  And  my  heart  went  out  to  both 
of  them,  and  if  I  could  have  had  my  way  they  would 
have  each  received  an  Enriqueta  and  a  better  one 
than  she  was.  I  saluted  all  the  people  in  the  street 
because  I  felt  so  friendly  towards  them,  and  though 
several  of  them  called  me  names  and  others  crossed 
themselves,  for  thinking  I  was  mad — what  did  I  care? 

And  on  the  bench  outside  the  house  there  was  Don 
Esteban  Fuentes  sitting  in  his  uniform  and  with  his 
legs  stretched  out. 

''Hola!"  he  cried,  "a  welcome  to  you!  I  am  hor- 
ribly fatigued,  for  I  have  ridden  over  all  the  town 
and  to  the  outskirts  in  a  hunt  for  Liberals,  that  abom- 
inable, evil-smelling  crowd.  But  we  have  swept  them 
all  away.  And  now  we  shall  be  merry."  The  lieu- 
tenant yawned. 

"Sir,"  said  my  master,  as  he  made  a  beautiful,  old- 
fashioned  bow,  "we  have  resolved  to  put  aside  our 
sorrows  and  to  let  your  table  be  a  scene  of  mirth. 
I  only  hope  our  sorrows  and  our  apprehensions,  which 
are  great,  will  not  come  to  the  surface.  Is  it  your 
desire  that  we  should  now  go  in?" 

Don  Esteban  Fuentes  stretched  himself  again  and 
rose.  He  seemed  to  be  amused,  and  to  my  master  and 
old  Captain  Bartolme  he  said  that  neither  of  them 
need  have  apprehensions,  for  he  was  a  cavalier  and 
would  not  poison  any  guest  of  his,  not  even  if  the 
guest  had  previously  wanted  to  deprive  him  of  his 
mistress. 

"I  am  not  aware,"  he  said  to  Don  Eugenio,  "what 
is  the  code  in  Spain,  according  to  which  I  presume  you 
conduct  yourself  in  these  matters.  But  in  Mexico  a 
person  of  position  either  kills  his  man  at  once  or  kills 
the  mistress  and  the  man.  If  he  does  neither  it  is 
not  considered  very  chivalrous  that  he  should  keep  his 


220    THE  HOUSE  OF  THE  FIGHTING-COCKS 

vengeance  for  another  time.  Moreover,  as  my  colonel 
always  says,  if  anybody  of  position  kills  the  man  or 
kills  the  mistress  he  is  acting  contrary  to  law,  v/hich  is 
a  bad  example  to  the  lower  people." 

Then  he  pushed  against  the  door  and  we  all  followed 
him  into  the  house,  into  a  little  room  which  had  a 
mirror  and  some  rocking-chairs,  and  it  was  lighted  by 
two  candles  that  were  placed  in  brackets  on  the  mirror. 
The  lieutenant  blew  them  out  and  begged  us  to  go 
forward  to  the  next  room  and  I  think  we  all  were  glad 
that  there  was  not  much  furnitture,  because  the  room 
was  really  dark.  But  in  the  next  one  we  perceived  a 
lighted  table  with  some  dishes  down  the  middle  of  it 
and  an  Indian  woman  gazing  at  them.  The  lieutenant 
ordered  her  to  go  and  bring  down  Enriqueta. 

He  was  taking  off  his  sword  when  she  came  in  and 
so  he  did  not  notice  properly  the  solemn  look  she  had. 
And  in  a  tone  of  heartiness  he  bade  us  all  to  take  our 
seats.  The  Indian  woman  waddled  back  with  some 
tortillas,  very  hot  and  round  and  crisp.  She  made  a 
little  heap  of  them  beside  our  host,  and  he  proceeded 
to  give  everybody  one  by  simply  throwing  them  all 
round  the  table.  He  did  not  appear  to  aim,  but  not- 
withstanding a  tortilla  fell  just  at  the  left  of  each  of  us. 

"Aha,"  said  Don  Eugenio,  "if  you  can  plant  the 
bullets  in  a  person  with  such  accuracy,  then  the  Lib- 
erals who  have  gone  may  all  congratulate  themselves." 

"May  the  Devil  catch  them!"  the  lieutenant  said. 
"I  drink  to  their  confusion!"  And  he  raised  his  glass. 
He  looked  so  fierce  that  all  of  us,  excepting  Don 
Eugenio,  were  anxious.  Enriqueta,  who  was  sitting 
at  his  left  side — Don  Eugenio  was  at  his  right  and 
I  was  next  to  Don  Eugenio  and  Captain  Bartolme  was 
next  to  Enriqueta — she  leant  forward  and  besought 
him  with  her  eyes  to  calm  himself. 


THE  HOUSE  OF  THE  FIGHTING-COCKS    221 

My  master  was  transferring  from  his  plate  to  mine 
a  piece  of  chicken;  I  have  never  seen  his  hand  more 
steady. 

"Drink,  now  drink  to  their  death!"  cried  our  host. 
"That  they  ma}^  come  to  years  of  confusion!  And  I 
mean  what  I  say!" 

"And  that  is  why  we  are  not  drinking,"  Don 
Eugenio  said.  "We  are  too  sorry  for  them.  When 
that  other  celebrated  warrior,  Julius  Caesar,  changed 
the  calendar  the  first  year  had  the  name  of  'year  of 
confusion.'  It  was  four  hundred  and  forty-five  days 
in  length;  and  can  you  really  find  it  in  your  heart 
to  wish  the  poor  folk  such  a  lengthened  life?" 

"Oh,  what  does  he  mean?"  groaned  the  lieuten-^ 
ant. 

Captain  Bartolme  was  sipping  from  his  glass. 

"In  such  an  admirable  wine  as  this,"  declared  my 
master,  "I  submit  that  we  should  not  drink  evil  things 
to  any  one.  I  never  saw  a  wine  of  such  a  color  and 
in  such  long  bottles."  Then  he  drank  a  little  and 
he  nodded  gravely.  "Sir,"  he  said,  "it  is  a  most 
historic  wine.  I  will  confess  that  I  did  not  ascribe 
to  you  such  perspicuity.  How  did  you  come  to  buy 
it?" 

"But  I  never  bought  it." 

"Then  we  have  to  thank  a  noble  ancestor  of  yours. 
What  foresight! — to  go  sailing  to  the  West  with  a 
few  hundred  glorious  bottles." 

The  lieutenant  lay  back  in  his  chair  and  looked 
as  if  he  would  explode.  "Oh,  what  a  man!"  he  cried. 
"Oh,  what  a  man!" 

"Yes,"  Don  Eugenio  said  enthusiastically.  "He  was 
the  magnificent  conquistador.  I  can  imagine  how  he 
paced  the  deck  with  Ponce  de  Leon,  who  was  seeking 
for  the  fount  of  everlasting  youth,  and  your  great 


222    THE  HOUSE  OF  THE  FIGHTING-COCKS 

ancestor  was  bringing  a  supply  of  it  in  thin,  green 
bottles.    That  is  greatness!" 

"Oh,  stop,  stop!"  cried  the  lieutenant.  " 'Tis  too 
much." 

"Not  half  enough,  sir,"  said  my  master.  "Such  a 
man  deserves  the  title.  And  I  tell  you  that  if  only 
it  is  granted  me  to  come  back  safely  to  this  town,  I 
shall  devote  myself  to  writing  the  biography  of  your 
unknown,  far-seeing  ancestor.  To  think  that  in  the 
bishop's  library  at  Zaragoza  I  was  spending  all  those 
years  in  writing  Saint  Eugracia's  life!  And  if  I  had 
accomplished  it,  what  use  would  it  have  been  as  an 
example  to  the  pious?  Nobody  who  says  he  is  a 
Christian  runs  the  slightest  risk  of  being  fastened  to 
a  horse's  tail  or  having  iron  bars  put  through  his  thighs 
or  having  his  liver  torn  out.  In  fact,  I  am  sorry 
to  say  that  it  is  the  enemies — the  honest,  open  enemies 
— of  Christendom  who  stand  in  gravest  peril  of  these 
things.  .  .  .  But  as  for  the  unequaled  foresight  of 
your  ..." 

"Look  now,"  said  the  lieutenant,  banging  with  his 
hand  upon  the  table,  "it  is  I  who  had  the  foresight. 
When  this  wine  was  being  taken  up  towards  the  capi- 
tal, we  lay  in  wait  and  seized  a  cart  or  two,  and  I 
obtained  my  proper  share.  What  is  the  good  of  having 
Emperors  who  are  extravagant  and  get  their  wine  sent 
all  the  way  from  Hungary,  unless  one  can  participate? 
.  .  .  And  you,  my  dear  sir,  have  been  very  much  in 
error." 

Don  Eugenio  was  taking  a  luxurious,  long  draught 
of  it  and  with  his  eyes  shut.  He  drank  very  slowly. 
And  when  he  put  down  the  glass  his  eyes  were  like 
those  of  our  famous  Indian,  Cuauhtemoc,  when  Cortes 
burned  his  feet,  for  they  were  proud  and  melancholy. 

"I  have  met  some  people  in  my  wanderings,"  he 


THE  HOUSE  OF  THE  FIGHTING-COCKS    223 

said,  'Vho  ostentatiously  proclaimed  it  to  the  world 
that  they  had  never  stolen  anything;  and  if,  indeed, 
they  spoke  the  truth  they  were  unnatural,  for  men 
are  thieves,  and  those  who  keep  themselves  from  steal- 
ing fall  in  consequence  into  another  sin.  Let  us,  for 
example,  take  the  very  common  theft,  that  of  a  woman. 
Do  not  the  red  lips  of  Enriqueta  and  her  irresponsible 
gay  laugh,  her  fruit-like  shoulders,  and  the  lovely 
curves  of  her  body — not  to  mention  other  things — 
make  her  an  object  of  desire?" 

"I  am  not  laughing,"  Enriqueta  said. 

"Which  adds  a  grief  to  our  desire  and  strengthens 
it,"  said  Don  Eugenio.  "But  is  there  any  one,"  he 
said,  as  he  turned  back  his  face  to  the  lieutenant,  "is 
there  any  one  who,  contemplating  such  a  woman,  can 
refrain  from  having  a  desire  within  him?  It  is  not 
worth  while  reflecting  on  those  people  who  are  quite 
or  nearly  quite  indifferent  to  the  desire,  but  I  suspect 
those  men  who  actively  are  up  in  arms  against  it. 
Such  a  sentiment  of  virtue  does  not  live  in  ordinary 
men,  but  in  those  others  who  have  lost  their  health 
and  hope  or  who  were  never  granted  them  by  God. 
Whatever  virtue  of  this  kind  I  may  possess  I  certainly 
have  not  acquired  through  studying  the  precepts  of 
religion  or  through  listening  to  the  admonitions  of  the 
moralizers,  who,  in  Spain,  are  beautifully  eloquent; 
but  in  so  far  as  I  am  broken  by  fatigue  and  suffering 
I  find  this  virtue  settles  down  upon  me  and  I  do 
not  wish  to  steal  a  woman,  but  I  fall  into  the  heavy 
sin  of  pride.  And  so  do  those  men  who  discover  that 
they  do  not  wish  to  steal  the  objects  which  in  other 
days  they  hankered  after.  Would  you  not  be  all  too 
proud,  my  friend,  if  you  perceived  that  you  no  longer 
had  the  wish  to  steal  the  Emperor's  wine?  But  if 
you  are  a  thief  of  wine  you  may  offend  your  Emperor, 


224    THE  HOUSE  OF  THE  FIGHTING-COCKS 

whereas  if  you  are  proud  you  will  assuredly  offend 
your  God." 

"I  once  met  a  man,"  said  the  lieutenant,  "who  was 
very  ill  indeed.  He  told  me  that  the  doctor  said  that 
during  six  months  he  must  keep  from  woman,  wine, 
and  song.  I  asked  him  if  he  would  obey  the  doctor, 
and  he  said  he  would  begin  by  leaving  off  the  song." 

The  aged  woman  reappeared  with  fresh  tortillas,  and 
our  host  again  distributed  them  as  before. 

"Another  thing,"  said  my  good  master,  "is  that 
here  in  Mexico  especially  the  art  of  thieving  should 
not  cease.  I  love  the  old  traditions  and  the  old  ways  of 
a  country.  One  may  travel  through  the  towns  of 
Andalucia  as  they  are;  for  me  the  real  Andalucia  is 
the  land  of  Abdul  Hassan,  who  is  still  besieged  in 
Seville  by  the  hosts  of  Saint  Fernando.  I  have  heard 
of  pilgrims  who  devoutly  walk  along  the  narrow  streets 
and  to  the  famous  churches  of  Assisi;  but  the  town 
as  it  will  always  be  to  me  is  the  Assisi  of  that  golden 
morning  on  which  Francis  and  his  comrades  came  back 
with  the  blessing  of  the  great  Pope  Innocent  and  were 
so  eager  to  return  with  the  good  news  that  they  forgot 
to  eat  and  thus  arrived  exhausted  in  the  valley,  though 
they  still  were  singing.  Once  when  I  was  in  Toledo 
I  was  very  much  distressed,  because  the  population 
did  not  seem  to  notice  those  who  were  the  only  real 
people  of  the  place  and  who  were  striding  past  me  with 
the  ruffles  round  their  haughty  necks  and  with  their 
ancient  but  still  serviceable  swords.  It  seems  to  me 
that  Mexico  would  break  entirely  with  her  past  if 
stealing  were  to  be  in  future  practised  in  a  furtive 
way,  without  an  air  and  with  no  humor.  Long  live 
Mexico!" 

He  drank  and  so  did  all  of  us.  Old  Captain  Bar- 
tolme  was  moving  his  chair  nearer  to  the  chair  of 


THE  HOUSE  OF  THE  FIGHTING-COCKS    225 

Enriqueta.     But  she  only  looked  at  the  lieutenant  or 
at  Don  Eugenic. 

"Well,  I  am  sorry  we  are  going  to  separate,"  said 
the  lieutenant  to  my  master,  "for  you  Spaniards  have 
the  gift  of  talking.  That  is  why  you  came  into  the 
world.     But,  anyhow,  please  pass  the  bottle." 

"Sir,"  said  Don  Eugenio  in  his  courteous  way,  "it 
would  require  a  great  amount  of  talking  if  we  are  to 
speculate  on  why  we  came  into  the  world.  And  as  we 
find  ourselves  at  present,  I  believe  it  will  be  wiser  if  we 
do  not  launch  into  the  seas  of  arguing,  but  simply  say 
that  we  are  here  to  do  the  will  of  God.  That,  after  all, 
is  the  sole  certainty." 

"Oh,  nonsense!"  said  Don  Esteban.  "I  know  why 
I  am  here.  A  country  must  have  officers  to  keep  good 
order  and  preserve  it  from  the  Liberals.  That  is  what 
I  have  to  do,  and  that  is  what  I  shall  do,  seiior  the 
librarian,  and  if  it  is  God's  will  I  am  glad.  But  I 
shall  do  it  anyhow."    He  looked  a  little  fierce. 

And  Enriqueta  laid  a  hand  upon  his  arm.  "My 
love,"  she  said,  "of  course  it  is  God's  will  that  you 
should  be  a  fine  lieutenant.  Everything  we  do  is 
God's  will,  I  am  sure,  and  so  that  must  be  why  He 
put  us  in  the  world.  I  prayed  to  God  that  it  might 
be  His  will  that  I  might  leave  Gonzalez,  the  disgusting 
shopkeeper  of  Colorado,  just  as  I  had  left  this  poor 
old  Captain  Bartolme.  And  as  I  had  been  faithful  to 
them  for  so  long  I  was  rewarded  and  my  prayer  was 
heard,  and  here  I  am  with  you  forever.  That  is  why 
I  came  into  the  world." 

The  lieutenant  looked  at  her  with  scorn.  "How 
can  a  woman  be  so  ignorant,"  said  he,  "as  to  believe 
that  God  is  interested  in  such  matters?  It  is  very 
ignorant  and  also  very  vile." 

But  Don  Eugenio  reproved  him,  saying  that  his  wine 


226    THE  HOUSE  OF  THE  FIGHTING-COCKS 

was  far  superior  to  his  philosophical  ideas.  "You 
assert,"  he  said,  "that  you  are  in  the  world  in  order  to 
destroy  a  part  of  it  and,  on  the  other  hand,  you  venture 
to  deny  this  woman's  claim,  that  she  is  here  to  love 
another  part.  It  seems  to  me  that  you  might  take 
unto  yourself  the  theories  of  a  few  of  the  barbarian 
fellows  who  have  stated  why  men  come  into  the  world. 
They  are,  at  all  events,  not  so  pernicious  as  your 
own.  The  natives  of  some  southern  island,  I  dare 
say,  believe  that  they  are  put  there  so  that  they  should 
eat  roast  pig  and  other  people  will  maintain  that  the 
Creator  wants  them  to  be  wreathed  in  flowers  and 
dance  all  day  long  in  His  honor,  and  the  wicked  early 
Lutherans  believed  that  they  were  in  great  measure 
on  this  world  so  that  they  should  throw  ridicule  and 
odium  upon  the  Pope.  'Sooner  Turks  than  Papists' 
was  their  cry.  But  though  it  was  deplorable  that  they 
should  think  they  came  here  for  an  object  such  as  this, 
I  do  not  blame  them,  O  lieutenant,  as  I  must  blame 
you  for  saying  that  your  purpose  here,  the  reason 
why  you  have  been  given  an  immortal  soul,  is  to  de- 
stroy another  man.  Behold  an  instance  of  the  curse 
of  thinking!  If  you  cherish  thoughts  of  that  kind 
you  must  be  condemned,  but  if  you  are  a  thoughtless 
warrior  who  goes  plunging  into  battle  and  defends  the 
hearths  and  altars  of  his  country  and  kills  other  men 
and  is  himself  brought  down,  he  surely  reaches  the 
most  high  degree  of  charity.  But  your  belief  is  in- 
finitely worse  than  that  of  Enriqueta,  who  has  told 
us  that  she  was  put  in  the  world  to  spread  her  love. 
I  see  what  you  are  going  to  say.  But  even  if  she  had 
been  spreading  it  a  trifle  widely  and  with  insufficient 
care,  I  shall  not  find  it  difficult  to  show  that  if  this 
hour  should  be  the  last  for  you  and  her,  one  would 
be  justified  in  thinking  of  her  future  with  more  con- 


THE  HOUSE  OF  THE  FIGHTING-COCKS    227 

fidence.  An  army  of  exuberant  lovers  who  now  dwell 
in  everlasting  bliss  could  march  before  you  and  their 
serried  ranks  would  almost  make  you  think  that  if 
this  attribute  is  of  importance  in  the  final  reckoning 
it  is  on  the  credit  side.  Of  course  there  is  a  French- 
man living  now,  Jules  Simon,  who  has  said  that  no- 
body will  ever  understand  the  reason  why  a  cause  pro- 
duces an  effect;  but  while  this  may  be  true  of  mundane 
matters  it  need  not  restrain  us  from  believing  that 
excessive  love  is  rarely  an  excessive  handicap  to  our 
eternal  prospects.  Shall  I  go  for  good  examples  to 
the  saints  who  were  at  one  time  much  preoccupied 
with  earthly  love,  or  shall  I  talk  of  people  who  re- 
sembled them  a  great  deal  but  who  are,  for  various 
reasons,  not  included  in  the  hierarchy  of  saints?  It 
would  be  simple  for  me  to  display  to  your  astonished 
eyes,  young  man,  a  list  of  persons  whom  the  Church 
considers  holy  and  who  .  .  ." 

''Every  one  is  holy,"  interrupted  the  lieutenant  with 
his  mouth  full.  "I  once  heard  a  lunatic  say  that. 
But  go  on  with  your  discourse." 

"I  am  having  the  most  pleasant  evening  of  my  life," 
said  Captain  Bartolme,  with  humble  gratitude. 

"Shall  I  describe  to  you,"  said  Don  Eugenio,  "how 
courtesans  have  been  selected  as  fit  candidates,  when 
they  were  purged,  for  the  most  lofty  honors.  In  the 
sacred  books  are  numerous  examples,  both  of  women 
and  of  their  male  counterparts.  I  will  not  speak  of 
them  to-night,  since  you  are  in  the  mood,  I  fear — a 
mood  that  I  have  far  too  often — which  regards  these 
blessed  ones  with  smiles.  There  is  doubtless  here  and 
there  a  saint  whose  joyous  life  is  of  the  kind  which, 
notwithstanding,  edifies  all  mortal  men;  but  the 
Church  has  warned  us  that  the  number  of  these  saints 
is  limited.    And  therefore  I  shall  run  no  risk  this  eve- 


228    THE  HOUSE  OF  THE  FIGHTING-COCKS 

ning  and  I  shall  say  no  word  about  the  drastic  method 
which  Saint  Peter  of  Alcantara  employed  against  his 
passion  of  the  flesh.  But  I  should  like  to  give  you 
from  the  ranks  of  the  profane  an  instance  of  the  ten- 
derness with  which  it  pleases  God  to  look  upon  a 
person  who  is  built  for  loving.  Well,  this  person  is 
myself,  and  if,  in  your  opinion,  I  should  be  more 
modest,  I  reply  that  I  do  not  propose  to  glorify  myself. 
Nihil  es,  nihil  potes,  nihil  vales.  Dear  lieutenant,  I 
will  cause  you  to  admit,  I  think,  that  there  are  mo- 
ments in  our  lives  which  the  majority  of  human  beings 
would  condemn  and  which  God  welcomes.  I  suppose 
you  will  agree  that  everybody  has  occasions  when  he 
is  more  anxious  to  set  out  upon  the  path  of  righteous- 
ness?" 

"How  long  ago  were  you  converted?"  asked  Don 
Esteban. 

"I  only  wish,"  said  my  good  master,  "to  allude  to 
one  occasion  in  my  life  when  this  grand  process  was 
at  work.  .  .  .  You  will  not  have  heard  that  once  in 
Aragon,  among  the  mountains,  I  was  an  apprentice 
with  my  uncle's  company  of  smugglers,  who  were  cele- 
brated and  successful.  If  it  had  not  been  for  an 
unfortunate  event  I  might  have  stayed  with  them  and 
never  known  the  seminary  or  his  lordship's  library  at 
Zaragoza  or  the  agitating  bookstalls  of  Madrid  or  this 
flamboyant  land  of  yours.  And  in  the  mountains  I 
had  also  had  a  very  fortunate  experience,  when  I 
recognized  that  God  is  full  of  kindliness  and  pardon 
for  the  sins  of  overmastering  love.  We  were  a  party 
of  three  men  and  we  were  coming  back,  well  laden, 
over  one  of  the  high  rocky  passes  when  we  found 
ourselves  confronted  by  some  travelers  on  horseback, 
evidently  people  of  importance.  And  they  may  have 
been  inclined  to  set  some  hostile  frontiersman  upon 


THE  HOUSE  OF  THE  FIGHTING-COCKS    229 

our  track,  because  they  may  have  had  ideas  on  law 
and  order  which — I  am  so  glad  to  say — I  subsequently 
came  to  have  myself.  At  any  rate  we  knew  it  would 
be  better  to  make  sure  of  them  and  so  we  tied  their 
wrists  and  ankles  very  firmly,  all  except  those  of  a 
girl  who  stood  upon  the  road  defying  us,  and  she  was 
beautiful.  Her  attitude  and  her  wild  eyes  and  her 
denunciation  of  us  made  her  look  like  one  of  those 
old  warrior-women,  like  Thomyris  or  like  Menalippe, 
who  would  only  yield  to  Hercules,  and  when  I  gazed 
at  her  I  felt  within  me  the  same  violence  and  fury 
as  she  had  herself." 

"Go  on!  Make  haste!"  cried  the  lieutenant. 
"What  succeeded?" 

"She  was  beautiful,"  said  Don  Eugenio,  "and  my 
companions  were  as  much  attracted  to  her  as  I  was 
myself.  And  while  we  were  discussing  in  a  friendly 
way  what  we  would  do  with  her,  the  woman  did  not 
cease  reviling  us  and  looking  splendid.  She  made 
much  more  noise  than  all  the  other  members  of  her 
party  put  together.  And  my  comrades  and  myself 
resolved  at  last  that  we  would  vote  respectably  for 
him  who  was  to  have  the  right  to  her.  We  settled 
that  it  would  not  be  allowed  for  any  one  to  vote  for 
his  own  name.  I  caught  the  woman's  eye  while  we 
were  making  these  arrangements  and  she  knew  that 
we  were  serious  and  that  it  was  no  longer  wise  to 
stand  there  in  such  indiscriminate  rebellion;  at  all 
events  with  glances  and  with  little  gestures  she  con- 
veyed to  me  that  I  must  be  the  man.  Meanwhile, 
the  other  two  were  voting  very  solemnly  and  each 
one  voted  for  the  other.  And  they  called  to  me,  and 
suddenly  it  struck  us  that  we  should  elect  the  one 
for  whom  I  voted.  Juan  de  la  Cruz,  who  was  grizzled 
and  unclean,  thought  that  my  vote  would  be  for  San- 


230    THE  HOUSE  OF  THE  FIGHTING-COCKS 

tiago  who  was  younger  and  more  like  myself,  and  so 
he  took  a  pistol  from  his  pocket  and  Santiago  followed 
his  example.  'Now,  be  careful  what  you  do!'  cried 
Juan  de  la  Cruz,  'Freedom  of  election!  Liberty  and 
the  Democracy!'  cried  Santiago,  who  repeated  some 
expressions  he  had  heard.  The  luckless  travelers  all 
seemed  to  have  forgotten  their  misfortune,  they  were 
staring  like  Galicians  in  a  theater.  Then  Juan  de  la 
Cruz  warned  me  as  well  that  I  should  have  a  care, 
but  Santiago  waved  his  empty  hand  above  his  head 
and  shouted  'Liberty  and  the  Democracy!'  And  I 
could  see  that  the  dear  woman  was  extremely  troubled; 
she  had  got  two  fingers  pressing  hard  against  her 
lower  lip.  Then  Juan  de  la  Cruz  let  fly  against  a 
rock,  perhaps  to  demonstrate  that  he  was  loaded,  and 
the  smoke  and  dust  did  not  allow  me  to  see  very 
well  what  happened  next.  I  only  know  that  they 
both  fired  and  hit  each  other  in  the  legs,  and  as  they 
cursed  and  yelled  they  both  fell  down,  but  Santiago 
in  a  shrill  voice  cried  his  'Freedom  of  election!  Lib- 
erty and  the  Democracy ! '  And  I  made  after  the  dear 
woman.  But  my  mind  was  not  so  taken  up  with  her 
that  I  omitted  to  see  God's  benevolence.  I  will  not 
say  that  I  had  more  love  for  the  woman  than  had 
Juan  de  la  Cruz  or  Santiago,  but  I  was  the  one  whom 
she  preferred.  She  and  I  alone  could  not  have  brought 
this  thing  to  pass,  and  in  believing  that  it  was  the 
work  of  God  I  may  have  been  mistaken,  but  I  hope 
that  He  did  not  refuse  my  thanks." 

"The  one  who  shouted  'Freedom  of  election!'  "  said 
old  Captain  Bartolme,  "had  he  not  got  a  second 
bullet?" 

I  was  wondering  if  Don  Eugenio  still  was  fond  of 
her  and  therefore  had  concealed  her  name. 

"But,"  said  Enriqueta,  "if  the  woman  stood  there 


THE  HOUSE  OF  THE  FIGHTING-COCKS    231 

screaming  at  you  and  denouncing  you  she  must  have 
been  most  horrible  to  look  at.  What  you  should  have 
done  .  .  ." 

Then  the  lieutenant  came  to  Don  Eugenio's  rescue, 
for  he  flung  a  large  tortilla  into  Enriqueta's  face.  And 
then  he  flung  another  one  into  the  face  of  Captain 
Bartolme.  It  was  impossible  to  keep  from  laughing 
at  their  ludicrous  appearance,  and  they  spluttered  not 
so  much  because  of  the  tortillas  being  warm  as  of 
the  shock.  And  then  they  tried  to  brush  the  yellow 
fragments  all  away,  and  the  lieutenant,  who  was  now 
most  jovial,  threw  another  one  at  Enriqueta's  hands. 
He  would  have  hurled  one  at  the  Captain,  but  he  had 
no  more.  And  suddenly  he  shouted  for  the  Indian 
woman.  My  good  master  was  upon  the  point  of  in- 
terceding on  behalf  of  those  two  people,  but  Don 
Esteban  announced  that  we  would  have  a  different 
entertainment,  and  he  told  the  Indian  woman  to  bring 
in  the  cocks. 

"Here  in  this  room,"  he  said  to  Don  Eugenio,  "we 
will  have  a  cock-fight.  It  shall  not  be  said  that  I  did 
not  provide  an  entertainn.ent  which  is  worthy  of  you. 
Sir,"  he  said  impressively,  "one  does  not  often  have 
a  private  combat,  for  it  is  a  large  expense,  but  I  will 
give  this  in  your  honor." 

"Long  live  our  Don  Esteban!"  cried  Enriqueta. 
"He  is  great  and  generous  and  noble!" 

And  the  aged  woman  came  back  with  two  baskets 
which  she  put  down  on  the  floor. 

We  all  got  up  and  clustered  round  the  baskets,  but 
Don  Esteban  said  that  he  wanted  to  explain.  It  would 
be  foolish  if  the  struggle,  so  he  said,  were  over  in  as 
short  a  time  as  in  a  cock-pit,  seeing  that  we  only  had 
two  cocks.  And  therefore  we  would  not  excite  them 
very  much  against  each  other:  we  would  not  pluck 


232    THE  HOUSE  OF  THE  FIGHTING-COCKS 

any  of  their  feathers  out  and  we  would  not  pour  pulque 
on  their  wounds.  He  said  that  Don  Eugenio  might 
choose  whichever  bird  he  wanted,  and  the  wagering 
should  not  exceed  an  ounce  or  two  of  gold. 

My  master  waited  till  the  baskets  had  been  opened. 
Then  he  told  me  to  select  a  cock  for  him.  And  I  was 
very,  very  careful,  though  I  really  could  not  judge  of 
the  capacities  of  two  strange  cocks,  and  yet  I  knew  a 
good  deal  more  than  my  dear  master,  who  had  never 
had  one  underneath  his  arm  in  all  his  life.  At  last 
I  thought  that  one  of  them  would  prove  the  champion 
and  I  picked  him  up  and  gave  him  to  my  master; 
but  the  hands  of  my  poor  master  trembled  violently 
and  he  tried  his  best  to  look  as  if  he  did  not  feel 
abhorrence. 

The  lieutenant  said  magnanimously  that  I  might 
instruct  my  master.  "Speak  into  his  ear,"  he  said, 
"whatever  good  advice  you  know." 

And  for  that  purpose  we  withdrew  out  of  the  circle 
which  had  formed  itself.  We  went  as  far  away  as 
possible,  but  all  the  time  I  feared  the  cock  would  fall 
or  fly  out  of  my  master's  hands.  I  could  not  think  of 
anything  to  tell  him,  save  that  he  should  throw  the 
bird  as  firmly  as  he  could  against  the  other  one. 
However,  just  as  we  were  getting  back  into  the  circle, 
where  Don  Esteban  was  holding  his  cock  ready,  a  most 
painful  sound  came  from  the  throat  of  our  bird,  all  his 
feathers  seemed  to  be  erect  and,  with  his  beak  half- 
open,  he  had  the  appearance  of  a  cock  who  is  about  to 
kill  the  other  at  the  end  of  a  fluctuating  fight.  And  so 
it  was — with  a  most  horrid  screech  he  flew  at  the 
lieutenant's  cock,  they  both  rose  in  the  air  together, 
and  the  other  bird  was  dead  and  ours  was  crowing. 

The  lieutenant  naturally  was  beside  himself  with 


THE  HOUSE  OF  THE  FIGHTING-COCKS    233 

rage.  He  stormed  and  cursed  and  stamped  his  feet 
and  shouted  at  my  master  incoherently,  and  then  he 
seized  our  cock.  He  glanced  at  him,  his  rage  became 
more  vehement  than  ever.  Finally,  when  he  could 
speak,  he  told  my  master  he  was  the  most  cruel  cock- 
fighter  in  all  the  world.  My  master's  nails  were  not 
inordinately  long,  but  in  his  agitation  they  had  pene- 
trated the  cock's  legs  and  this  had  caused  the  animal 
to  be  so  fierce. 

I  will  not  say  what  savage  words  he  uttered. 

And  my  master  told  him  that  he  quite  agreed  and 
that  in  one  sense  he  had  been  a  cruel  person.  "There 
is  conduct,"  so  he  said,  "which  has  not  been  inspired 
by  a  malicious  sentiment,  and  yet  produces  a  result 
that  is  deplorable.  I  think  of  Voltaire,  who  was  more 
than  ever  certain  of  the  innocence  of  Calas  and  of  the 
good  faith,  so  cruel,  of  the  Parliament  of  Toulouse. 
And  I  think,  sir,  that  my  cruelty,  not  being  of  the 
calculated  sort,  but  due  entirely  to  my  nervousness, 
you  might  have  treated  it  with  some  indulgence.  I 
must  even  ask  you  to  forgive  me  if  I  say  that  such 
an  outcry  on  account  of  what  you  know  quite  well 
was  inadvertent  cruelty  is  not  harmonious  with  the 
views  that  your  profession  lays  upon  you.  I  presume 
that  you  do  not  dissociate  yourself  from  that  most 
eminent  commander  who  was  never  tired  of  praising 
cruel  conduct  in  a  war;  he  held  that  if  one  were 
engaged  with  despicable  foes  there  would  in  a  short 
time  be  peace,  and  if  it  was  a  gallant  foe  he  would 
become  implacable  against  your  cruelty  and  then  you 
would  salute  him  and  in  this  way  peace  would  also 
come." 

"I  never  heard  of  him  in  all  my  life,"  said  the 
lieutenant.    "But  what  you  were  doing  with  that  cock, 


234    THE  HOUSE  OF  THE  FIGHTING-COCKS 

it  is  abominable.  It  is  .  .  ."  He  was  working  him- 
self up  again  into  a  passion.  He  paced  up  and  down 
the  room. 

"My  friend,"  said  Don  Eugenio,  "if  you  do  not 
desire  to  pay  me  what  you  owe,  then  do  not  pay  me. 
But  I  would  be  pleased  if  you  will  give  it  to  this  poor 
old  Captain.  He  is  in  distress.  You  said  an  ounce 
or  two  of  gold." 

Then  as  the  Captain  met  the  glare  in  the  lieutenant's 
eye  he  quailed  and  muttered  something  and  began  to 
move  towards  the  door.  And  Enriqueta  beckoned  to 
him  that  he  must  not  go.  But  she  was  powerless. 
And  Don  Eugenio,  who  was  seated  upon  one  of  those 
big  baskets,  told  the  Captain  that  if  he  was  going 
back  to  Colorado  he  should  there  receive  whatever 
gold  could  be  extracted  from  Don  Esteban. 

^'Carajof"  snarled  Don  Esteban,  "that  eminent  com- 
mander you  were  talking  of  is  like  some  colonels  I 
know  very  well.  They  are  the  most  ridiculous  com- 
manders ever  seen,  except  those  on  the  other  side. 
And  if  you  think  that  I  will  pay  you  gold — when  two 
men  find  it  easiest  to  come  to  an  agreement  it  is  for 
the  robbery  of  some  one  else." 

"Do  not  reply  to  that  lewd  villain!"  called  out 
Enriqueta.  "Let  us  all  disdain  to  speak  to  him!  And 
he  shall  never  see  me  any  more!"  She  really  looked 
superb.  "But  you  will  have  some  faithful  friends," 
she  said,  "who  wait  for  you  in  Colorado.  There  we 
are  all  friends  with  one  another  and  if  we  have  paltry 
cocks  like  those  we  throw  them  out  into  the  jungle. 
We  are  frank  with  one  another;  as  we  say  in  Mexico, 
we  take  our  garments  off." 

Then  she  put  her  arm  around  the  neck  of  Captain 
Bartolme  and  so  they  disappeared.  And  the  lieutenant 
did  not  try  to  stop  them.    He  pretended  to  be  quite 


THE  HOUSE  OF  THE  FIGHTING-COCKS    235 

indifferent  and,  as  he  strode  about  the  room,  he  gave 
a  jerky  laugh.  My  master,  still  upon  his  basket,  gazed 
at  the  lieutenant  with  a  lack  of  sympathy.  And  I 
was  sitting  at  the  table  near  to  the  victorious  cock, 
which  was  engaged  in  pecking  at  the  relics  of  our 
feast.  The  other  cock  lay  where  it  had  been  slain, 
and  the  lieutenant  kicked  it  very  viciously  across  the 
room. 

"Young  man,"  said  Don  Eugenio,  "this  is  the  first 
time  I  have  occupied  myself  with  fighting-cocks,  and 
it  may  be  that,  if  I  had  occasion  to  continue  at  the 
game,  I  should  get  over  the  disgust  I  feel.  But  I  shall 
always  think  with  horror  of  the  way  in  which  you 
treat  that  poor,  dead  thing.  .  .  .  O  cock,"  said  Don 
Eugenio,  "the  man  for  whom  you  fought  has  utterly 
disgraced  himself.  He  is  the  kind  of  soldier  who 
throws  insult  at  a  hero,  not  remembering  that  you 
might  have  led  an  amorous,  triumphant  life,  and  that 
for  his  sake  you  gave  everything.  It  was  no  quarrel  of 
your  own,  beloved  cock,  in  which  you  fell,  but  merely 
so  that  this  man  should  be  gratified,  and  for  a  moment. 
Fare  you  well.  And  I  am  glad  that  you  were  spared 
the  knowledge  of  the  miscreant's  deed;  I  think  that 
if  you  had  been  only  wounded  when  he  kicked  you  and 
not  dead,  your  loyal  gallant  heart  would  then  have 
broken.  Fare  you  well."  My  master  did  not  wipe 
away  the  tears  which  ran  down  both  his  cheeks. 

And  the  lieutenant  was  a  picture  of  unhappiness. 
He  stood  near  Don  Eugenio  and  his  fingers  worked 
convulsively.  "What  can  I  do?  What  can  I  do?" 
said  he. 

"You  interrupt  my  grief,"  said  Don  Eugenio.  "You 
remind  me  of  your  Emperor's  brother,  Francis  Joseph. 
One  day  at  the  Zoological  Gardens  in  Vienna  he  ar- 
rived in  front  of  where   the  eagles  are.     He  burst 


236    THE  HOUSE  OF  THE  FIGHTING-COCKS 

into  a  flood  of  tears,  and  the  officials  looked  at  one  an- 
other anxiously.  'Your  Majesty,'  said  one  of  his  smart 
aides,  'if  there  is  anything  the  matter  .  .  .'  'Poor, 
poor  eagle,'  sobbed  the  Emperor.  'What  can  I  do? 
What  can  I  do?'  The  Chief  Inspector  of  the  Gardens 
ventured  to  assure  his  Sovereign  that  this  eagle  was 
quite  reconciled  to  his  captivity.  'Oh,  my  poor,  mis- 
erable bird,'  sobbed  Francis  Joseph.  'I  am  truly  sorry 
for  you.  It  is  dreadful,  dreadful.'  'But  indeed,'  said 
the  Inspector,  'if  your  Majesty  would  graciously  ob- 
serve with  what  an  appetite  he  will  consume  his  rab- 
bits .  .  .'  Yet  the  Emperor  was  inconsolable.  'He 
is  a  bird,'  said  the  Inspector,  'whom  we  have  been 
very  proud  of.  There  is  scarcely  such  another  in  the 
mountains  of  Your  Empire.'  'No,  no,  that  is  false!' 
cried  Francis  Joseph.  'He  is  a  poor,  pitiable  creature.' 
'But  what  is  wrong  with  him,  if  I  may  ask  Your 
Apostolic  Majesty?'  said  the  Inspector.  'Oh,  you  must 
be  drunk,'  the  Emperor  answered,  'or  you  would  have 
seen  that  he  has  only  got  one  head!'  " 

Of  course,  the  atmosphere  was  changed  completely 
by  this  tale,  and  the  lieutenant,  sitting  down  upon  the 
other  basket,  told  my  master  with  a  cheerful  earnest- 
ness that  they  need  not  be  very  sorry  for  this  cock, 
because  the  end  of  many  other  cocks  in  Mexico  had 
been  more  painful.  He  described  the  practice  of  sus- 
pending them  by  one  leg  from  a  pole,  right  in  the 
middle  of  the  street.  And  usually  round  the  creature's 
neck  there  is  a  string  of  coins,  which  are  sometirnes 
counterfeit.  And  then  the  cavaliers  come  galloping 
along  and  rise  up  in  their  stirrups  and  endeavor  to 
pull  off  the  creature's  head. 

But  in  the  middle  of  all  this  my  master  put  his 
hands  against  his  ears.  I  knew  that  he  was  trying 
strenuously  to  regard  this  matter,  as  he  did  all  others. 


THE  HOUSE  OF  THE  FIGHTING-COCKS    237 

from  the  point  of  view  most  favorable  for  the  people 
whom  he  disapproved  of.  "As  I  said  before,"  quoth 
he,  "I  possibly  might  overcome  this  feeling  of  disgust. 
It  is  a  sport  which  often  brings  the  cock  an  instan- 
taneous death,  and  for  the  men  it  has  some  obvious 
advantages  which  lotteries  and  monte  and  the  rest  of 
them  do  not  possess.  We  have  it  sharply  brought  to 
our  attention  that  a  being  may  at  any  instant  lie  in 
death  or  be  in  the  enjoyment,  as  is  yonder  cock,  of  all 
good  things.  We  recognize  that  our  life  also  is  a 
wonderful  adventure,  and,  in  recognizing  that,  we  fling 
aside  the  dullness  and  the  emptiness  and  the  banalities. 
It  seems  to  me  that,  as  one  thinks  about  a  cock-fight 
after  it  is  over,  one  can  hardly  keep  oneself  from 
hearing  the  loud  trumpets  of  defeat  or  victory  that 
will  be  blowing  over  us  at  any  moment.  And  no  longer 
do  we  think  our  lives  are  dull,  which  is  a  thought  that 
pleases  neither  God  nor  Devil. 

"I  will  tell  you  that  I  have  regretted  that  the  father 
of  my  Juanito  should  have  an  establishment  of  fight- 
ing-cocks. I  do  not  know  this  country  very  well  and 
thus  it  is  impossible  for  me  to  have  the  confidence 
which  Juanito's  father  had.  His  father  said  that  with 
some  knowledge  of  the  Latin  language  he  would  be 
appointed  to  a  post  of  honor  and  emolument.  For 
my  part,  I  have  always  feared  lest  Juanito  would  be 
in  the  end  obliged  to  join  in  breeding  cocks.  But  now 
these  cocks  appear  to  me  in  a  far  nobler  aspect.  It 
is  no  disgrace  for  Father  Pedro  to  be  busied  with  such 
animals.  No,  on  the  contrary.  And  if  I  were  not  an 
obscure  and  impotent  old  man,  and  if  I  were  not  being 
dragged  about  by  Don  Arcadio,  this  Noahcite,  I  would 
in  some  way  let  the  name  of  Father  Pedro  ring  across 
the  seas.  But  who  will  ever  hear  about  this  house 
of  fighting-cocks? 


238    THE  HOUSE  OF  THE  FIGHTING-COCKS 

"I  wonder,"  Don  Eugenio  said — not  waiting  for  an 
observation  which  I  might  have  made — "I  wonder 
when  it  was  that  cocks  began  to  be  esteemed  for  this  or 
any  other  virtues.  One  remembers  that  Saint  Clement 
celebrates  the  cock  as  symbol  of  the  resurrection  and 
he  is  depicted  on  the  tombs  of  early  Christians.  As 
the  day  and  night  were  thought  of  as  an  image  of 
the  resurrection — 'Dies  et  nox,'  said  Saint  Clement, 
'resurrectionem  nobis  declarant:  cubat  nox,  exsurgit 
dies' — it  was  natural  that  as  a  symbol  of  the  resurrec- 
tion one  should  take  the  cock,  the  herald  of  the  day. 
Also,  I  am  pleased  that  I  have  not  forgotten  that  they 
used  him  as  a  symbol  of  Christian  vigilance.  It  all 
comes  back  to  me  from  my  vague,  miscellaneous 
studies  in  the  library  at  Zaragoza.  You,  sir,  will  not 
contradict  me  if  I  venture  to  assert  that  Gregory  the 
Great  and  Saint  Eucherius  laid  it  down  concerning 
cocks  that  they  are  as  the  preachers  who,  amid  the 
shadows  of  this  life,  announce  the  life  that  is  to  come. 
I  cannot  call  to  mind  exactly  where  Eucherius  says 
these  words,  because  we  had  at  Zaragoza  more  than 
one  of  his  distinguished  volumes.  In  the  De  Con- 
temptu  Mundi  my  discerning  bishop  very  ardently 
admired  the  beauty  of  the  stjde  and  the  great  delicacy 
of  the  sentiments;  and  as  he  was  himself  most  humble 
he  was  always  apprehensive  lest  he  should  be  shown 
to  be  deficient  in  the  former.  So,  wh^'n  he  prepared 
his  Pastorals,  he  used  to  fortify  his  style  by  studying 
attentively  this  elevated  work. 

"Eucherius  likewise  is  the  author  of  the  Acts  of  the 
Martyrdom  of  Saint  Maurice  and  Ms  Comrades.  It  is 
all  related  by  Eucherius  in  a  very  honest  fashion  and 
with  his  accustomed  literary  excellence,  while  he  re- 
frains from  buttressing  his  tale  with  miracles,  such 


THE  HOUSE  OF  THE  FIGHTING-COCKS    239 

as  the  one  we  have  from  other  sources  which  describes 
how  at  the  building  of  Agaunum's  great  basilica  there 
was  among  the  laborers  a  pagan  who  continued  work- 
ing on  a  Sunday  and  how  then  the  company  of  gleam- 
ing martyrs  came  back  from  their  grave  to  fling  him 
down  and  fall  upon  him  in  the  charitable  goodness 
of  their  hearts,  because  it  made  him  forthwith  vow 
that  he  would  be  a  Christian.  When  I  talk  approv- 
ingly," said  Don  Eugenio,  ''of  these  martyrs  it  is  only 
of  their  good  intentions,  for  I  think  they  ought  not 
to  have  used  the  man  so  scurvily;  they  ought  to  have 
instructed  him  and  shown  him  how  the  Sunday  should 
be  spent;  and  after  this,  had  he  been  stubborn  and 
rebellious  to  their  merciful  teaching,  then  in  God's 
name  let  him  fall  under  the  censure.  But  to  knock 
him  down  with  no  preliminaries,  that  is  not  a  method 
of  conversion  which  can  be  attributed  to  saints  with- 
out a  great  offense  to  their  charity.  However,  as  I 
said,  Eucherius  does  not  write  a  word  about  this 
miracle,  and  yet  there  are  some  learned  men  who  say 
emphatically  and  with  many  proofs  that  one  must  dis- 
believe his  tale  and  that  there  was  no  martyrdom  and 
therefore  that  it  was  ridiculous  and  sacrilegious  to  con- 
struct a  church  upon  the  spot  and  let  the  pilgrims 
come  in  multitudes.  But  we  shall  never  know  for 
certain  if  the  martyrdom  did  not  occur  and  if  it  is 
an  oriental  legend;  there  have  been  a  number  of  es- 
teemed historians  who  pondered  over  the  same  texts 
for  years  and  years,  and  came  to  opposite  conclusions. 
We  are  told  by  certain  writers  that  the  students  who 
do  not  believe  these  old  traditions  are  afraid  to  bring 
upon  themselves  the  hatred  of  the  monks  and  friars 
who  make  trade  of  these  impostures  among  silly 
women." 


240    THE  HOUSE  OF  THE  FIGHTING-COCKS 

"I  have  just  been  thinking  of  her,"  interrupted  the 
lieutenant.  "If  we  go  into  the  town  we  may  find  En- 
riqueta  somewhere." 

"Very  likely.  On  the  other  hand/'  said  Don  Eu- 
genio,  "you  will  admit  that  people  are  too  quick  to 
cast  aspersions  on  all  kinds  of  ancient  men  and  women 
on  the  ground  that  their  achievements  seem  improba- 
ble. God,  what  a  reason!  We  ourselves,  who  are  so 
far  removed  from  being  saints,  do  we  not  find  our- 
selves, with  God's  assistance,  doing  deeds  to-day  which 
yesterday  would  have  appeared  impossible?  And 
learned  men,  I  say,  can  spend  their  time  far  better 
than  in  proving  to  us  that  a  saint  whom  we  have 
venerated  is  no  saint  at  all.  The  Master  of  the  Saints 
will  surely  know  how  to  dispose  of  any  prayers  that 
we  send  up  to  the  saints  or  holy  ones  who  were  in- 
vented by  some  monkish  chronicler,  and  so  we  can 
do  things  much  worse  than  praying  to  Saint  Chris- 
topher or  Saint  Longinus  or  the  Eleven  Thousand  Vir- 
gins or  the  Martyrs  of  the  Theban  Legion,  under 
Maurice,  as  to  all  of  whom  there  has  been  acriminious 
dispute." 

"I  should  be  very  glad  to  find  her,"  quoth  Don 
Esteban,  as  he  got  up.    "Come,  let  us  go." 

"I  would  not  hinder  you,"  said  Don  Eugenio.  "By 
all  means  let  us  walk  about  the  town  until  the  watch- 
men grow  suspicious.  I  am  sure  that  Enriqueta  has 
escaped.  And  if  you  can  forget  her  ...  By  the  way," 
said  my  good  master,  "I  am  going  to  take  with  me 
to  Tamaulipas  a  brown  book  which  I  have  bought, 
the  Security  against  Oblivion  which  a  man  called 
Robles  wrote  a  hundred  years  ago,  here  in  this  coun- 
try. It  is  the  official  'Life'  of  an  archbishop,  and  I 
think  it  may  console  us  in  the  perils  of  that  expedi- 
tion.   At  any  rate  it  is  a  very  foolish  expedition,  and 


THE  HOUSE  OF  THE  FIGHTING-COCKS     241 

it  will  be  difficult  for  me  to  keep  that  calmness  and 
serenity  which  are  appropriate  to  my  condition.  If  I 
cannot  soothe  my  fellow-travelers  and  myself  I  shall 
recite  some  passages  from  this  most  edifying  book,  and 
thus  we  shall  regain  our  equanimity." 

But  as  he  said  these  words  and  was  proceeding 
slowly  from  the  room  that  cock  flew  from  the  table 
and,  perhaps  in  consequence  of  something  it  had  drunk 
or  eaten,  hurled  itself  against  my  master's  face.  And 
all  confused  and  spitting  feathers  from  his  mouth  and 
in  a  voice  of  loathing  he  addressed  the  bird: 

"Thou  reprobate  and  graceless  one,  is  this  the  way 
in  which  to  celebrate  thy  victory?  O  natives  of  the 
town  of  Sybaris,  held  up  to  mockery  because  you  could 
not  bear  the  crowing  of  the  cocks  and  therefore  ban- 
ished them.  O  citizens  of  Sybaris,  you  did  not  act 
with  weakness  but  with  mighty  wisdom!" 

The  lieutenant  said  that  we  should  lose  all  chance 
of  finding  Enriqueta  if  we  did  not  go.  He  said  that 
he  knew  many  of  the  watchmen  and  they  would  not 
tell  him  lies,  and  we  would  find  the  fugitives. 

We  never  found  them.  The  lieutenant  tramped 
along  in  front  of  us  and  I  ran  after  him  and  Don 
Eugenio  came  next,  and  he  was  out  of  breath.  When- 
ever I  turned  round  to  see  if  I  could  help  him  he 
commanded  me,  by  means  of  a  brusk  movement  of 
his  arm,  to  hasten  on.  The  streets  were  so  deserted 
at  this  hour  that  even  when  he  was  extremely  far 
behind  us  I  could  hear  his  stumbling,  heavy  footsteps 
and  his  groaning  and  his  panting,  and  at  intervals  he 
made  again  the  noise  of  spitting  feathers  from  his 
mouth. 


CHAPTER  XVII 

When  our  procession  left  Jalapa,  on  the  second 
morning  after  this,  the  town  was  very  agitated  by 
some  awful  rumors.  It  was  being  said  that  now  the 
Liberals  were  returning  and  that  this  time  they  would 
sack  the  place,  and  also  that  the  patron  saint  of  the 
Imperialists  was  so  displeased  with  Maximilian  having 
taken  to  himself  a  German  Jesuit  as  confidant  that  she 
would  henceforth  help  the  other  side,  and  also  there 
was  in  the  market-square  a  Belgian  of  the  bodyguard 
who  said  aloud  that  he  and  his  companions  had  so 
often  thrashed  the  Mexicans — he  meant,  of  course,  the 
Liberals — that  they  probably  had  learned  the  art  them- 
selves and  he  was  going  to  leave  the  cursed  country. 
Those  who  heard  him  were  in  such  a  terrible  excite- 
ment that  they  did  not  stop  to  have  a  single  word 
with  him.  The  women  and  the  men  were  hurrying 
about  in  a  distracted  fashion;  it  was  being  noised 
abroad  that  women  would  be  made  to  promenade  the 
plaza  with  their  children,  so  that  if  the  Liberals  be- 
sieged the  town  they  would,  through  motives  of  high 
chivalry,  not  aim  into  the  plaza.  This  was  quite  a 
new  idea  which  Maximilian's  European  soldiers  had 
suggested  to  the  governor  of  the  town;  the  Liberals 
knew  nothing  of  it.  And  amid  this  general  confusion 
there  was  hardly  any  one  who  looked  a  second  time 
at  us,  and  that  is  how  we  rode  away.  If  there  had 
not  been  all  this  turmoil,  I  am  sure  a  good  part  of 
the  population  would  have  followed  Don  Arcadio's 
mule  and  would  have  asked  Faustino,  who  was  walk- 

242 


THE  HOUSE  OF  THE  FIGHTING-COCKS    243 

ing  with  a  baggage-mule,  if  he  would  tell  them  our  in- 
tentions. On  the  next  three  animals  were  Don  Eu- 
genio  and  Maria  and  myself — I  think  Faustino  got 
the  mules,  and  as  there  was  one  for  the  girl  she 
mounted  it  and  came  with  us. 

And  what  did  I  care  when  we  left  the  town  behind 
us  and  no  single  person  of  our  company  said  anything? 
If  this  had  been  a  funeral  procession,  I  would  still 
have  had  my  thoughts  immensely  occupied  with  that 
long  map  from  Don  Arcadio's  wall  which  he  had  rolled 
up  till  it  looked  as  if  it  were  a  lance,  and  which  he 
carried  fastened  to  his  back.  The  colored  people  on 
it,  and  the  trees  which  were  like  long,  brown  rivers, 
and  the  writing  everywhere  which  looked  like  flowers 
that  a  child  would  paint,  and  then  the  gods  and  the 
extraordinary  mountains  and  a  chief  whose  legs  and 
arms  were  covered  with  the  plumage  of  gay  birds — all 
these  had  sent  me  dreaming  from  the  day  when  first 
I  saw  them,  and  to  think  that  we  were  actually  going 
to  travel  in  accordance  with  this  marvelous  affair!  A 
flame  was  rushing  up  and  down  my  body,  and  I  mur- 
mured a  few  bars  of  that  old  song,  the  dear  Paloma. 

Don  Eugenio  turned  round  in  his  saddle  and  was 
evidently  pleased.  "You  sing  that  song,"  he  said,  "at 
the  right  moment.  Have  I  told  you  of  the  jefc  whom 
I  heard  not  long  ago  inside  a  drinking-shop  where 
he  explained  to  any  one  who  cared  to  listen  how  he 
had  remained  so  honest?  He  related  that  in  moments 
of  temptation,  when  a  wicked  man  was  trying  hard 
to  bribe  him  or  when,  in  some  other  way,  the  hands 
of  Justice  were  in  danger  of  not  working  freely,  he 
would  hum  a  portion  of  that  song  and  thus  the  pa- 
triotic fervor  would  come  over  him  and  he  would 
utterly  reject  the  tempters.  And  he  also  said  he  did 
not  know  what  happened  in  the  House  of  Congress 


244    THE  HOUSE  OF  THE  FIGHTING-COCKS 

in  the  capital,  but  he  believed  they  ought  to  station 
there  a  choir  perpetually  chanting  this  Paloma,  even 
if  it  had  the  usual  result  of  making  deputies  inaudible." 

Our  patron,  Don  Arcadio,  had  reined  his  mule  back, 
so  that  he  was  riding  level  with  the  pair  of  us.  "Of 
course,"  he  said,  ''if  it  is  true  that  all  the  various 
ingredients  of  earth  can  be  transmuted  into  one  an- 
other, then  there  will  no  longer  be  a  reason  for  es- 
teeming gold  above  the  rest  of  them.  I  should  be 
pleased  to  pull  this  metal  down  and  others  like  it 
from  their  pedestals.  I  should  be  so  much  nearer  my 
great  object." 

"On  the  other  hand,"  said  Don  Eugenio — there 
was  a  grim  line  of  laughter  round  his  lips — "I  am 
more  than  half  afraid,"  he  said,  "that  you  would  be 
much  further  from  it.  Surely  you  would  rouse  to  des- 
peration all  those  people  who  are  thickly  crusted  round 
with  gold  and  are  esteemed  for  nothing  else.  And 
they  have  always  been  brought  up  to  think  that  they 
are  firm  upon  their  pedestals.  They  are  a  million 
times  more  numerous  than  those  great  golden  statues 
in  the  Babylonian  temple  and  the  statues  of  Lucullus 
and  of  Pompey." 

"Which  have  been  pulled  down,"  said  Don  Arcadio. 
His  mule  put  back  its  ears  and  kicked  my  master's 
animal.  There  had  not  been  the  smallest  provocation, 
and  my  master's  mule  did  not  retaliate.  "Where  are 
those  golden  statues  now?"  asked  Don  Arcadio,  after 
he  had  composed  himself  again  upon  his  saddle. 

"If  it  comes  to  that,"  said  Don  Eugenio,  "I  have 
heard  that  in  Arabia  at  one  time  there  were  flourishing 
a  thousand  and  twenty-five  poets,  and  although  I  have 
not  read  their  works  I  am  prepared  to  wager  that  a 
good  proportion  of  them  sang  about  the  change  and 
transitoriness  of  things.     And  there  was  one  person 


THE  HOUSE  OF  THE  FIGHTING-COCKS    245 

in  my  own  country,  Lope  de  Vega,  who  went  so  far 
as  to  proclaim  that  the  sea  and  play  and  love  and 
fortune  are  unrecognizable  as  such  without  change. 
What  a  great  man,"  said  my  master,  "is  that  poet! 
He  is  commonly  belittled  by  this  world  of  little  men, 
because  he  wrote  in  such  prodigious  quantities.  I 
think  your  mule  is  going  to  kick  again." 

"He  drags  my  arms  out  of  their  sockets,"  Don 
Arcadio  said.    "I  hope  he  will  grow  tamer  by  and  by." 

"There  was  a  famous  writer  in  Madrid,"  said  Don 
Eugenio.  "He  used  to  patronize  our  bookstall,  and 
I  can  remember  how  he  told  us,  drawing  himself  up 
to  his  full  height  and  speaking  with  a  voice  that  trem- 
bled, how  he  told  us  that  if  Spain  possessed  an  army 
which  was  worth  its  pay,  like  England's  army,  and 
some  battleships  as  good  as  England's  and,  beyond 
all  else,  as  much  in  the  Exchequer  as  there  was  in 
England's,  then  would  Lope  de  Vega  be  as  famous  as 
Shakespeare.  ...  I  do  not  assert,"  said  Don  Eugenio, 
"that  Lope  de  Vega  and  Shakespeare  will  pass  away, 
but  in  the  end  the  golden  statues  are  pulled  down  and 
I  imagine  that  the  men  who  pull  them  are  themselves 
not  seldom  crushed.  But,  sir,  what  is  your  special 
reason  for  desiring  to  be  that  kind  of  reformer?" 

Don  Arcadio  shook  his  head.  "Well,"  he  explained 
with  care,  "it  is  not  statues,  it  is  gold  that  I  am  want- 
ing to  pull  down.  My  special  reason  is  that — it  is  like 
a  saying  of  our  Liberal  statesmen:  liberty  and  the 
Democracy!'  And  I  am  more  a  Liberal  than  most  of 
them,  because  I  mean  it.  I  wish  to  apply  to  all  the 
substances  of  earth  what  they  pretend,  or  most  of 
them  pretend,  it  is  their  aim  to  practise  upon  human 
beings.  Why  should  gold  or  princes  be  regarded  as 
above  their  fellows?" 

"Really,"  said  my  master,  "this  is  most  enjoyable. 


246    THE  HOUSE  OF  THE  FIGHTING-COCKS 

How  melancholy  we  all  were  at  the  beginning  of  the 
ride!  And  now,  caramba!  I  feel  so  exhilarated  that 
I  do  not  care  how  much  I  moralize.  I  do  not  care  how 
humble  are  my  illustrations.  I  suggest  that  as  the 
representative  of  aristocracy  we  take  that  mule  of 
yours.  If  he  may  lead  the  others  he  will  be  content 
and  probably  he  is  a  most  efficient  leader  and,  if  cir- 
cumstances did  not  thwart  him,  he  would  certainly 
be  leading  now.  With  all  respect  to  you,  dear  friend, 
and  your  great  work  of  transmutation,  it  is  less  than 
likely  that  you  will  be  able  to  transmute  one  mule  into 
another  mule,  one  prince  into  another  man.  And  I  will 
even  beg  to  doubt  if  you  will  ever  be  successful  in 
transmuting  gold,  for  you  have  had  long  rows  of  prede- 
cessors." 

"Ha!"  cried  Don  Arcadio  triumphantly,  "but  you 
are  wrong!  If  you  put  certain  naked  princes  in  a 
crowd  of  naked  people,  do  you  think  that  any  one  will 
know  who  is  a  prince?" 

"I  am  astonished,"  said  my  master,  "that  you  should 
be  satisfied  with  such  an  argument  that  goes  no  fur- 
ther than  the  surface.  Look,  if  you  have  got  the 
power,  more  deeply  into  all  those  naked  ones  and  you 
will  recognize  that  some  of  them  are  real  princes." 

"But  the  princes  of  this  world  are  never  chosen  in 
that  manner,"  Don  Arcadio  pointed  out. 

"And  more's  the  pity.  Though  there  would  be  one 
enormous  obstacle,"  said  Don  Eugenio,  "for  how  should 
we  restrict  the  number  of  electors?  I  think  only 
those  should  have  the  suffrage  who  themselves  are 
eligible  for  election.  Surely  I  have  told  you  the  old 
proverb  that  it  is  the  nightingale  alone  which  under- 
stands the  rose.  But  more  and  more  the  suffrage  is 
extended,  so  that  even  if  the  real  prince  were  chosen 
by  some  accident  and  were  to  sit  unclothed  adminis- 


THE  HOUSE  OF  THE  FIGHTING-COCKS    247 

tering  equity,  then  he  would  have  no  glamour  in  the 
eyes  of  his  unworthy  audience." 

"And  as  the  people  who  are  in  the  seats  of 
princes  .  .  ." 

"Oh,  I  quite  agree  with  you,  alas,"  said  Don 
Eugenio,  "they  should  not  be  there;  but  even  if  the 
people  who  revere  them  are  a  crowd  of  fools  and  we 
are  not,  should  we  not  make  ourselves  the  greater 
fools  if,  having  nothing  to  set  up,  we  try  to  pull  the 
princes  down?  And  in  the  golden  statues  of  antiquity 
there  often  was,  so  I  have  read,  a  covering  of  gold  on 
bronze  or  wood;  the  people  worshiped  with  more  ardor 
and  emotion  since  they  thought  the  statue  was  of  solid 
gold.  And  if  the  gold  which  should  have  been  inside 
the  statue  had  been  taken  by  a  thief,  would  he  not 
have  been  a  far  greater  thief  who  could  have  taken 
from  the  people  their  illusions?  I  believe,"  said  Don 
Eugenio,  "that  a  prayer  is  often  grander  and  more 
lovely  than  the  god.  We  said  a  little  time  ago  that 
all  things  pass  away,  and  yet  I  like  to  think  that 
lovely  thoughts  have  children  and  endure  forever." 

We  had  now  come  to  a  path  so  narrow  that  the 
mules  could  only  go  in  single  file  and  I  am  sure  that 
Don  Arcadio's  was  very  pleased.  The  branches  over- 
head were  almost  meeting  one  another,  while  the  blue 
and  yellow  flowers  which  hung  down  from  them  were 
being  struck  by  Don  Arcadio's  long  map.  He  must 
have  studied  it  acutely  in  Jalapa,  since  he  was  so 
certain  that  this  was  the  proper  path  for  us.  But  I 
for  one  was  not  particularly  anxious  that  we  should 
not  lose  the  way;  I  will  confess  that  the  ingenious  and 
grandiose  designs  in  Don  Arcadio's  head  were  not  as 
dear  to  me  as  Don  Arcadio  would  have  wished.  Ah, 
no,  he  probably  did  not  think  I  was  capable  of  fol- 
lowing such  beautiful,  august,  and  philosophical  ideas. 


248    THE  HOUSE  OF  THE  FIGHTING-COCKS 

But  all  the  benefits  which  they  would  soon  or  late  con- 
fer upon  humanity  I  should — this  I  am  sure  he  had 
decided — I  should  to  the  full  enjoy  when  he  himself 
was  dead.  The  path  meandered  through  the  under- 
growth, and  as  I  was  the  last  of  the  procession  I  could 
sometimes  not  see  any  one  except  Maria  who  was  just 
in  front  of  me,  and  when  I  was  enabled  to  catch  sight 
of  Don  Arcadio  and  his  map  my  heart  was  warm  with 
kindly  thoughts  for  him;  but  chiefly  I  was  hoping 
that  we  would  get  off  our  animals  and  gather  round 
the  map  and  then  consult  and  argue  and  discuss  and 
speculate,  as  if  we  were  a  band  of  real  brigands. 

It  would  happen  now  and  then  that  we  emerged 
into  an  open  space,  from  which  we  could  look  out 
beyond  the  palm-trees  and  the  other  trees  to  where 
they  lost  themselves  in  the  pale  distance.  But  we 
likewise  saw  the  mountain  ranges  on  our  left  and  these 
it  was  that  we  would  have  to  cross  and  they  did  not 
look  any  nearer  than  from  Don  Arcadio's  house.  We 
only  walked  our  mules,  because  Faustino  was  on  foot. 
And  it  was  not  a  path  for  rapid  riding,  even  if  the 
mules  had  wanted  to  go  quickly.  Now  and  then,  I 
say,  we  found  ourselves  on  a  green,  open  space,  but 
very  seldom  did  we  see  a  bamboo  hut  with  some  one 
strolling  round  it,  very  seldom  did  we  hear  the  voice 
of  pigs  which  told  us  that  there  was  a  hut  inside  the 
jungle,  still  more  seldom  did  we  meet  a  traveler— this 
country  was  but  thinly  populated. 

Still  we  did  come  to  a  village  after  several  hours 
and  the  people  of  it  led  us  to  the  ptdque  shop,  which 
was  their  inn.  Outside  it  hung  a  painting,  not  a  very 
good  one,  of  the  Holy  Family;  but  otherwise  that  inn 
was  not  more  glorious  than  any  of  its  neighbors,  which 
were  all  constructed  of  bamboo  and  with  a  thatch  of 
palm-leaves.    Don  Arcadio  ascertained  that  the  pro- 


THE  HOUSE  OF  THE  FIGHTING-COCKS    249 

prietor  had  nothing  we  could  eat,  not  even  beans  nor 
pineapples,  but  merely  jars  of  pulque  which,  said  Don 
Arcadio,  would  not  be  helpful  to  assist  us  on  the  way, 
and  so  he  ordered  that  we  should  proceed  right  through 
the  village  and  should  halt  beside  the  first  stream 
we  encountered.  We  had  not  a  large  supply  of  food 
upon  Faustino's  mule — since  it  was  necessary  for  us 
to  bring  clothing  for  the  nights  and  also  sundry  tools 
which  were  to  dig  the  gold  of  Tamaulipas — but  we 
should  be  able  without  doubt,  said  Don  Arcadio,  to 
replenish  our  supply  of  food  in  other  places.  And  we 
passed  all  through  the  village,  being  only  followed  by 
some  children  and  some  dogs  and  the  proprietor — a 
melancholy  person — of  the  pulque  shop.  I  wondered 
what  reproaches  he  would  level  at  us,  but  when  we 
arrived  outside  the  village  and  beheld  a  stream  of 
water  and  got  off  our  mules,  this  man  assisted  Don 
Arcadio  and  Don  Eugenio,  who  were  naturally  rather 
stiff,  to  leave  their  saddles.  Yet  he  did  not  speak, 
except  to  mutter  at  a  child  or  two  who  were  already 
bathing  in  the  stream.  But  when  my  master  stretched 
himself  luxuriously  on  the  water's  bank  and  said  that 
now  we  surely  had  come  to  the  end  of  all  our  troubles, 
this  man  only  sighed  and  said  "Which  end?"  And 
presently  he  went  back  to  the  village. 

We  remained  an  hour  or  two,  reposing.  That  is, 
all  of  us  reposed  with  the  exception  of  the  Noahcite. 
My  master  was  unloosening  the  stirrup  which  he  had 
upon  his  right  foot — an  old  stirrup  made  of  steel  and 
silver — when  he  happened  to  remark  that  it  would  be 
a  most  uninteresting  world  in  which  the  metals  could 
all  be  transmuted  into  one  another.  But  he  did  not 
think,  he  said,  and  with  profound  respect  for  Don 
Arcadio,  that  this  consummation  would  be  ever  brought 
about.    "In  fact,"  he  said,  "I  have  a  notion  that  your 


250    THE  HOUSE  OF  THE  FIGHTING-COCKS 

metals  take  upon  themselves  an  individuality,  so  that 
one  piece  of  silver  is  not  just  the  same  as  every  other 
piece." 

The  Noahcite  was  thoroughly  aroused.  He  sat  bolt 
upright  and  expressed  himself  with  vigor. 

But  my  master  spoke  at  the  same  time,  nor  did 
he  bother  to  lift  up  his  voice.  He  had  detached  the 
spur,  and  now  as  he  lay  down  beside  the  Noahcite 
he  made  himself  as  comfortable  as  he  could,  he  drew 
his  hat  down  on  his  eyes  and  said: 

''Of  course  I  do  not  know  as  much  of  metals  as  of 
books.  You  may  have  noticed  that  a  man  is  not  the 
same  in  every  work.  The  treasures  of  invention  and 
of  eloquence  may  not  be  gathered  always  by  the  great- 
est of  us,  and  the  learned  Vossius  was  right  when  he 
condemned  a  critic  who  denied  that  Xenophon  was 
author  of  the  Expedition  of  Cyrus,  because  forsooth 
the  critic  was  unable  to  discern  in  it  all  those  inimitable 
strokes  of  eloquence  which  are  the  mark  of  that  illus- 
trious historian." 

The  Noahcite  was  talking  loudly  and  his  arms  were 
moving  up  and  down. 

"They  said  of  him,"  quoth  Don  Eugenio,  "that  he 
had  all  the  sweetness  which  a  man  can  have.  Perhaps 
he  did  not  soar  into  the  heights  with  Plato  nor  de- 
scend into  the  secret  causes  with  Thucydides."  And 
then  my  master  fell  asleep. 

I  do  not  know  how  long  the  Noahcite  continued  to 
discourse  about  his  metals.  When  Maria  came  with 
me  into  a  shady  spot  a  little  further  down  the  river 
he  was  talking  in  a  very  mournful  fashion,  being  evi- 
dently grieved  that  Don  Eugenio  should  go  on  living 
in  such  error.  And  for  his  part  Don  Eugenio  had  a 
smile  upon  the  lower  portion  of  his  face,  the  only 


THE  HOUSE  OF  THE  FIGHTING-COCKS    251 

portion  that  there  was  exposed.     And  in  his  sleep  he 
murmured,  "All  the  sweetness,  sweetness." 

When  we  started  off  again  we  knew  that  we  would 
have  to  camp  that  night  on  this  side  of  the  mountains 
— ^we  would  not  come  near  another  village.  And  as 
we  were  unaccustomed  to  such  lengthy  rides,  we  all 
of  us  were  very  glad  when  Don  Arcadio's  mule  stopped 
suddenly  as  it  was  crossing  a  small  open  space  and 
then  lay  down  upon  a  pile  of  moss.  The  Noahcite 
himself  received  no  injury,  but  he  accepted  Don 
Eugenio's  suggestion  that  this  would  be  a  delicious 
and  convenient  place  for  an  encampment.  In  five 
minutes  we  were  all  collecting  twigs  of  wood  and  in  a 
very  short  time  after  this  Maria  had  begun  to  cook 
our  evening  meal.  This  was  to  be  the  first  meal  and 
the  last  of  Don  Arcadio's  famous  expedition. 


CHAPTER  XVIII 

It  has  never  caused  me  grief  that  I  am  so  incapable 
of  writing  on  our  scenery.  The  editors  and  other 
journalists  of  Mexico  are  nearly  always  poets,  and  the 
students,  both  of  medicine  and  law,  seem  to  have 
ample  time  to  spare  for  poetry,  and  I  have  heard  of 
some  great  General  or  Minister  or  Bishop  coming  to 
a  town  of  which  the  mayor  receives  him  with  the 
recitation  of  a  poem  he  himself  has  written,  while  the 
schoolmaster  is  asked  to  hand  a  copy  of  his  ceremonial 
poem  to  the  great  man's  adjutant  or  secretary,  to  the 
end  that  it  may  be  perused  at  leisure.  So  you  see  that 
if  we  are  deficient  here  in  certain  things,  in  poets  we 
are  wonderfully  well-provided.  I  believe  that  many 
of  our  splendid  swarms  of  poets  have  described  the 
scenery,  and  who  am  I  that  I  should  hope  to  follow 
them?  It  is  a  subject  that  is  too  magnificent  for 
such  a  one  as  I.  And  yet  I  always  think  with  sorrow 
of  that  evening  in  our  expedition  when  the  baseless 
mountains  seemed  to  float  in  air  and  to  have  wreathed 
around  their  summits  a  faint  garland  of  no  color  I  had 
ever  seen,  it  was  the  color  of  the  dreams,  perhaps, 
of  grandfathers  when  they  have  played  with  little 
children.  And  the  sky  was  like  a  flock  of  shadows 
gathering  in  fields  of  ivory.  I  think  with  grief  about 
that  evening  on  account  of  the  calamitous  events  I 
am  about  to  tell  you  and  also  on  account  of  the  divine 
events,  a  pageant  so  tremendous  on  the  treetops  and 
the  mountains  and  the  sky  that  even  in  the  middle 
of  our  panic  and  the  clash  of  arms,  of  which  you  will 

252 


THE  HOUSE  OF  THE  FIGHTING-COCKS    253 

be  learning  soon,  I  had  to  gaze  in  wonderment  around 
me.  Well,  it  seems  that  as  I  am  no  poet  I  will  place 
the  scenery  before  you  like  a  corpse  to  gaze  at;  and 
I  have  been  told  that  in  the  foreign  countries  where 
the  law  does  not  prevent  one  from  dissecting  corpses 
one  regards  with  pity  and  contempt  the  people  who 
are  satisfied  with  gazing. 

First  of  all,  when  we  had  finished  supper,  we  un- 
rolled the  map  and  spread  it  on  the  ground;  Faustino 
took  a  piece  of  burning  wood  out  of  the  fire  and  held 
it  over  this  or  that  part  of  the  map,  as  Don  Arcadio 
directed.  No  one,  except  Don  Arcadio  himself,  knew 
how  to  read  the  map  and  he  explained  it  to  us  very 
well. 

And  afterwards,  when  Don  Eugenio  was  lying  there 
— his  back  supported  by  his  saddle — and  Maria  and 
Faustino  and  myself  were  putting  blankets  round  the 
fire  or  getting  other  twigs  of  wood  or  doing  nothing, 
Don  Arcadio  walked  to  and  fro  in  meditation.  Then 
my  master  started  speaking  and  we  gradually  all  as- 
sembled near  him,  that  is,  we  sat  round  the  fire,  and 
in  the  darting  light  of  it  I  could  perceive  that  every 
one  was  listening  intently. 

"There  must  be  many  people,"  so  he  said,  "who 
have  imagined  that  if  they  could  wander  in  the  open 
country,  with  a  few  companions,  they  would  free  them- 
selves from  all  the  squalor  and  the  wickedness  and 
cruelty  of  towns.  Who  has  not  heard  them  speaking 
of  the  wilderness  as  though  it  were  a  place  of  healing, 
where  the  wind  would  drive  away  whatever  evil  may 
have  settled  on  them  and  where  they  would  presently 
develop  virtues?  Bueno,  we  are  in  the  wilderness,  and 
it  is  seemly  that  we  should  consider  what  is  going 
to  happen.  If  we  do  not  find  ourselves  improving, 
ought  we  to  be  very  much  ashamed?     And  will  the 


254    THE  HOUSE  OF  THE  FIGHTING-COCKS 

shame  be  forced  upon  us  by  the  sight  of  other  and 
more  edifying  people?  Or  shall  we  be  blind  to  all 
their  greatness? 

"I  believe,"  said  Don  Eugenio,  "that  the  inhabitants 
of  places  such  as  this  are  naturally  just  as  wayward, 
just  as  noble  or  abandoned  as  the  dwellers  in  a  town. 
And  we  are  clearly  meant  to  take  this  view,  because, 
whatever  else  may  be  uncertain  as  to  Adam  and  his 
faults  for  which  we  still  are  suffering,  his  existence — 
if  he  did  exist — was  in  the  country." 

"I  am  not  uncertain  as  to  Noah,"  said  the  Noahcite. 

"But  when  the  people  of  the  town  go  out  into  the 
country,"  said  my  master,  "they  are  in  a  state  of 
freedom  or  of  lawlessness — whichever  you  may  like 
to  call  it — that  they  have  not  known  before.  They 
are  as  travelers  in  Spain  who  ask  the  landlord  of  a 
little  hostelry  v/hat  he  can  give  them,  and  the  answer 
is  that  he  can  give  them  everything  and  then,  on  being 
pressed,  he  adds,  'Of  what  Your  Grace  has  in  his 
saddle-bags.'  If  you  want  all  your  furniture  of  laws 
out  in  the  country,  you  must  take  them  with  you. 
And  do  you  believe,"  said  Don  Eugenio,  "that  the 
greater  lawlessness  in  which  these  country-people  live 
has  the  effect  of  making  them  more  virtuous?  They 
are  restricted  and  are  supervised  far  less  than  dwellers 
in  the  town,  and  so  are  able  to  give  far  more  play  to  all 
their  appetites  and  passions.  Being  deeply  stirred,  as 
are  the  townsmen,  by  the  elementary  demands  for 
food  and  women,  they  are  not  so  much  debarred  from 
taking  either;  even  if  the  conscientious  king  or  presi- 
dent sees  fit  to  make  the  town  laws  applicable  to  the 
country,  he  will  not  apply  them.  It  may  be,  of  course, 
that  when  the  average  countryman  has  taken  all  he 
wants  of  food,  or  land-producing  food,  and  women, 
he  is  satisfied  and  settles  down  into  a  creditable  life, 


THE  HOUSE  OF  THE  FIGHTING-COCKS    255 

whereas  the  townsman  is  prevented,  more  or  less, 
from  reaching  a  condition  of  satiety.  And  if  that  is 
the  general  case  one  might  advance  the  theory  that 
the  laws  should  be  removed  a  little  from  the  towns- 
man, so  that  in  the  first  place  he  should  be  more 
natural,  and  in  the  second  that  he  should  attain  the 
country  person's  happy  state.  In  fact,  the  laws  have 
been  so  frequently  condemned  by  philosophic  people, 
seeing  that  they  make  life  duller  and  less  natural  and 
altogether  less  attractive  that  I  scarcely  know  why 
we  maintain  them.  And  if  lawless  people  wax  in 
virtue,  while  the  people  who  live  under  laws  are  con- 
stantly at  odds  with  them,  does  it  not  seem  advisable 
to  brush  these  laws  away?  Then  life  would  be  worth 
living  for  a  townsman  and  he  would  in  time  become 
as  satisfied  and  virtuous  as  any  dweller  in  the  country. 
Ah,  but  there  is  a  most  grave  objection,  for  the  virtue 
which  flows  into  us  when  we  are  satisfied  is  not  much 
more  worth  having  than  the  virtue  which  grows  under 
a  policeman's  eye.  And,  by  the  way,  there  is  another 
school  of  thought  which  says  that  virtue  does  not 
flourish  if  it  is  not  under  the  command  of  laws.  'Take 
the  severe  restraint  away,'  says  Seneca,  'and  what  will 
then  become  of  virtue? — Imperia  dura  tolle,  quid  virtus 
erit?'  He  would  have  told  us  that  we  are  mistaken 
when  we  praise  the  virtues  of  the  country-people  on 
the  ground  that  they  are  relatively  lawless.  And  he 
would  not  have  extolled  the  virtue  which  is  the  result 
of  satisfied  desire.  I  hope,"  said  Don  Eugenio,  "that 
you  appreciate  how  much  I  feel  all  this,  since  nobody 
is  more  aware  than  I  am  of  how  little  virtue  I  possess 
and  how  much  that  exceeds  the  quantity  there  was  in 
me  before  my  body  and  my  spirit  had  been  battered 
for  so  long  and  thrown  from  side  to  side  and  made 
into  uninteresting  ruins.  .  .  .  But  we  talk  of  satisfied 


256    THE  HOUSE  OF  THE  FIGHTING-COCKS 

desire,  and  is  there  such  a  thing?  With  most  of  us 
I  fancy  that  it  means  that  we  have  come  into  the  state 
when  the  desire  in  us  has  withered.  And,  by  all  the 
saints,  how  can  we  be  without  desire?  O  let  not  our 
desires  grow  blunt  or  satisfied!  We  should  be  as  the 
glow-worm  when  the  passionate  beauty  of  his  light 
goes  out.  O  let  there  be  such  laws  and  such  restric- 
tions over  us  that  we  are  always  striving,  always  serv- 
ing, always  adding  to  the  beauty  of  the  world  .  .  ." 

"And  so,"  said  Don  Arcadio,  with  a  puzzled  air, 
"you  want  us  to  be  under  laws  and  you  were  saying 
that  you  did  not  want  us  to  be  under  them  so  much. 
Is  that  not  so?" 

"My  friend,"  said  Don  Eugenio,  "the  only  attri- 
bute of  greatness  which  I  have  in  me  is  that  I  do  not 
fear  to  contradict  myself  ...  I  have  arrived  at  the 
conclusion  that  the  great  laws  which  protect  from  us 
such  things  as  other  people's  food  and  women  are 
most  excellent — the  little  laws  about  a  thousand  other 
things  I  do  not  speak  of.  God  be  thanked  that  we 
are  constantly  repressed  by  those  great  laws,  and  it 
is  God  perhaps  and  not  the  wisdom  of  our  ancestors 
who  first  established  them.  Can  you  imagine  that  a 
single  race  of  men  would  have  deprived  themselves 
of  the  enjoyment  of  these  two  commodities,  unless 
they  had  been  under  the  impression  that  this  was  the 
will  of  God  or  of  the  Devil?  I  do  not  pretend  to 
know  how  these  repressive  and  most  admirable  laws 
began  to  be  established,  but  if  it  was  owing  to  the 
Devil's  influence — which  I  consider  very  likely — there 
is  not  the  smallest  reason  for  us  to  repine,  since  it 
would  be  repugnant  to  our  common  sense  if  we  did 
not  believe  that  God  employs  the  Devil,  when  he  can 
be  profitably  used,  and  that  if  God  were  not  more 
satisfied  than  otherwise  He  would  before  now  have 


THE  HOUSE  OF  THE  FIGHTING-COCKS    257 

destroyed  him.  Well,  if  I  were  asked  to  paint  a 
portrait  of  the  Earliest  Great  Legislator  I  should  not 
be  much  disposed  to  let  him  have  a  venerable  and 
inspired  appearance;  on  the  contrary,  I  should  depict 
a  savage  who  is  in  the  throes  of  physical  discomfiture 
produced  by  an  excessive  yielding  to  these  two  desires 
or  one  of  them.  And  in  the  sluggish  brain  of  that 
poor  man  we  have  the  source  of  subsequent  great 
laws.  The  ignorance  in  which  he  was  himself  envel- 
oped should  not  make  our  gratitude  less  hearty:  if 
he  thought  it  was  the  Devil  working  in  him  I  believe 
that  ultimately  it  was  God.  Because  the  work  of  this 
man  and  of  his  successors  looks  as  if  it  were  an  acci- 
dent we  should  not  blasphemously  think  it  is  so.  I 
have  seen  a  beautiful,  eld  bridge  that  spans  a  road 
and  joins  the  chapter-house  of  a  cathedral  to  the 
vicar's  close.  The  two  ends  of  the  bridge  were  not 
exactly  opposite  each  other,  for  which  reason  it  was 
necessary  for  the  bridge  to  turn  at  a  slight  angle; 
furthermore,  the  ground  was  not  so  high  at  one  side, 
so  that  there  the  arch  was  built  upon  a  lower  level. 
And  the  whole  affair  was  most  divinely  picturesque. 
No  doubt  a  modern  architect  would  say  that  this  was 
accidentally  achieved — and  I  am  sure  that  he  himself 
would  have  corrected  both  the  inequalities  and  have 
destroyed  the  beauty.  I  believe  that  when  the  Archi- 
tect of  Things  produces  His  incomparable  work  it  does 
not  rest  on  accident. 

"As  for  these  relatively  lawless  people  of  the  open 
country,"  said  my  master,  "it  behoves  us  to  regard 
them  not  with  feelings  of  aversion  but  with  pity.  They 
are  far  less  fortunate  than  we  are.  And,  who  knows? 
perhaps  we  shall  be  able  to  persuade  a  few  of  them 
to  bow  to  our  own  stricter  laws,  which  are  so  great 
a  blessing." 


258    THE  HOUSE  OF  THE  FIGHTING-COCKS 

Scarcely  had  my  master  said  these  words  when  we 
were  conscious  of  a  troop  of  men  among  the  trees. 
I  tried  to  think  how  soon  they  would  burst  in  upon 
us  and  assassinate  us,  but  they  seemed  to  stop.  We 
sat  in  the  most  perfect  silence,  gazing  at  each  other. 
And  I  felt  the  blood  jerk  to  and  fro  inside  Maria's 
hand. 

Of  course  we  had  some  weapons,  but  they  were  not 
lying  near  us  round  the  fire,  except  Faustino's  long 
machete,  which  was  useful  for  the  cutting  off  of 
branches.  And  we  sat  there  just  as  if  we  never  would 
get  up  again.  .  .  .  The  people  who  were  watching  us 
were  all  so  silent  and  the  night  was  growing  dark.  I 
shivered  as  I  looked  into  the  fire,  which  now  seemed 
smaller  and  more  ruddy,  but  this  may  have  been  be- 
cause of  the  surrounding  darkness.  Anyhow,  as  I 
looked  up  again  I  thought  I  could  see  many  ruddy 
eyes  that  glared  and  flashed  among  the  trees.  And 
then  Faustino  crossed  himself  and  started  muttering 
about  his  sins.  I  heard  him  groan  that  if  he  had 
been  better  this  would  not  have  happened. 

But  my  splendid  master  interrupted  him.  He  tried 
to  speak  in  his  most  ordinary  voice.  "My  dear  Faus- 
tino, I  should  like  to  tell  you  of  a  boy,"  he  said,  "who 
swore  that  he  would  do  one  good  act  every  day,  and 
it  was  near  the  point  of  midnight  on  a  certain  day 
and  he  could  think  of  nothing  good  which  he  had  done. 
He  therefore  gave  his  white  mouse  to  the  cat." 

"Alas,  alas,  I  have  done  nothing,"  said  Faustino. 
"But  nevertheless  I  will  be  of  good  cheer"— he 
straightened  himself  and  bit  his  lower  lip— "because 
I  have  such  faith  in  God.  I  am  sure  that  if  he  likes 
He  can  protect  us  in  this  horrible  position." 

"Why  then  did  He  bring  us  into  it?"  said  Don 
Arcadio. 


THE  HOUSE  OF  THE  FIGHTING-COCKS    259 

I  was  so  glad  that  they  were  speaking.  It  might 
even  happen,  so  I  thought,  that  if  the  people  in  the 
dark  observed  how  good  and  harmless  were  my  master 
and  the  Noahcite  and  all  of  us  they  would  be  kind. 
And  then  I  hoped  they  would  emerge,  because  I  really 
was  inquisitive  to  see  them. 

Don  Eugenio  rolled  over  on  his  side  and  with  his 
face  towards  the  fire.  "Ah,  well,"  he  said,  in  a  loud 
voice,  "I  think  we  ought  to  go  to  sleep  or  we  shall 
not  be  ready  for  the  road  to-morrow  morning.  Now 
may  God  have  pity  on  us  always."  And  he  actually 
shut  his  eyes,  as  if  he  were  in  his  own  comfortable  bed. 

But  Don  Arcadio  was  rather  agitated  still.  He 
shifted  first  to  this  side,  then  to  that,  and  then  he 
burst  out  with  some  words  that  were  not  wise.  "Yes, 
that  is  it,"  said  he,  "and  may  God  recollect  how  you 
have  pity  on  the  lawless  people  of  the  countryside." 

"I  have  pity  on  them,"  said  my  master,  opening 
his  eyes  and  speaking  very  clearly,  "I  have  pity  on 
them  if  their  gold  miscarries,  that  is,  if  by  chance  the 
gold  which  we  are  going  to  fetch  from  Tamaulipas 
does  not  find  its  way  into  the  pockets  of  the  gallant 
country -people." 

Then  I  heard  a  whispering  among  the  trees.  It  was 
a  hurried  consultation,  and  in  a  very  little  time  the 
noise  increased,  as  they  were  not  by  any  means  of 
one  opinion.  Here  and  there  a  word  was  audible  and 
oaths  and  exclamations — until  one  man  spoke  in  rough 
command  and  said  that  they  would  go  back  to  the 
place  where  they  had  left  their  animals  and  there, 
he  said,  they  would  take  counsel.  And  his  comrades 
very  soon  obeyed  him;  we  could  hear  them  talking 
as  they  went. 

We  looked  at  one  another  and  the  same  thought 
came  into  our  heads;  but  all  of  us,  save  Don  Arcadio, 


26o    THE  HOUSE  OF  THE  FIGHTING-COCKS 

knew  it  was  hopeless  to  attempt  to  run  away  from 
them  in  such  a  country. 

"If  only  one  could  pack  the  mules,"  said  Don 
Arcadio. 

We  did  not  answer  him,  and  my  good  master  said 
that,  as  presumably  we  should  that  night  have  little 
sleep,  we  ought  to  take  this  opportunity,  while  they 
were  arguing  about  us.  It  would  not  astonish  him, 
he  said,  if  they  assisted  us  by  slaying  one  another. 

"If  they  were  religious  people,"  said  Faustino,  "it 
would  be  so  simple.  But  they  are  the  Liberals,  I  am 
sure,  and  they  will  not  respect  the  holy  Catholic  re- 
ligion." 

"Well,  if  you  have  always  done  so,"  said  my  master, 
"then  you  can  await  your  destiny  without  uneasiness. 
Come,  let  us  try  to  sleep." 

"Sefior,"  he  said,  "it  shall  be  so.  But  there  was 
some  one  in  Jalapa  who  once  told  me  that  when  he 
was  fighting  with  an  enemy  and  they  were  all  of  them 
good  Catholics  it  was  so  different.  His  troop  was  being 
hunted,  it  was  nearly  captured.  Then  it  came  into  a 
village,  and  as  they  were  riding  past  the  church,  one 
of  the  troop  leaped  from  his  horse  and  asked  a  man  to 
lead  it  to  the  stream  and  there  to  wait  for  him.  He 
ran  himself  into  the  church — all  this  was  in  our  State 
of  Veracruz — and  fortunately  there  was  some  one  in 
the  inside,  sweeping  it.  He  made  that  man  go  with 
him  to  the  sacristy — he  held  out  his  revolver  at  him — 
in  the  sacristy  they  took  some  garments  of  the  priest 
and  these  the  soldier  put  upon  himself;  they  found 
the  little  table  with  its  white  cloth  and  they  also  found 
the  bell — these  things  he  forced  the  village  man  to 
carry  and  to  march  before  him  out  into  the  open  air. 
And  I  must  not  forget  that  in  his  own  hands  he  was 
carrying  the  Holy  Sacrament,  with  the  revolver  hidden 


THE  HOUSE  OF  THE  FIGHTING-COCKS    261 

somewhere  up  his  sleeve.     As  they  went  slowly  from 
the  church,  which  was  a  blue  and  white  one  ..." 

"But,  my  dear  Faustino,"  said  my  master,  "I  assure 
you  I  believe  the  tale  as  if  I  had  been  there  myself." 

"And  it  was  in  the  State  of  Veracruz,"  Faustino 
said.  "As  they  went  slowly  from  the  church  the  peo- 
ple of  the  village  who  perceived  them  knelt  with  one 
accord  and  prayed.  They  did  not  stop  to  look  into 
the  face  of  either  of  them.  And  the  troop  of  enemies 
came  galloping  along  and  in  a  moment  they  were  off 
their  horses  and  were  kneeling  and  were  praying. 
Very  slowly  did  the  man  walk  with  the  Sacrament, 
and  in  the  end  he  slipped  behind  a  house,  he  took 
those  garments  off  and  ran  to  where  the  horse  was 
hidden.  After  that  he  only  had  to  ride  by  certain 
forest  paths  to  where  his  comrades  were  expecting 
him." 

We  spoke  of  other  things  a  little.  Then  we  tried 
to  hear  what  they  were  doing,  and  then  suddenly  their 
captain  called  to  us  in  his  rough  voice  and  he  was  not 
far  off.  He  told  us  that  if  we  delivered  to  them  such 
things  as  they  wanted  they  would  not  molest  us.  We 
might  think  it  over,  he  announced,  for  several  minutes, 
and  he  told  us  that  he  was  called  Bustamante. 

"Bustamante!  He  is  the  most  powerful  in  all  the 
region,"  said  Faustino,  who  was  filled  with  awe.  "Oh, 
would  that  it  were  true  that  God  can  write  straight 
lines  on  paper  ruled  with  crooked  ones." 

"It  seems  to  me,"  said  Don  Eugenio,  "from  the 
way  in  which  the  Senor  Bustamante  spoke  that  we  had 
better  keep  our  minds  upon  the  earth.  Suppose  one 
of  your  water-sellers  lets  the  water  be  abstracted  from 
the  small  jug  which  he  has  in  front  of  him  and  from 
the  large  one  which  he  has  behind  him.  You  might 
think  at  first  that  he  would  be  a  useless  man,  but  I 


262    THE  HOUSE  OF  THE  FIGHTING-COCKS 

believe  that  they  are  largely  used  in  Mexico  to  carry 
messages.  Now  there  are  times  when  we  must  not 
allow  the  hero  in  us  to  display  himself." 

"Oh,  if  we  fight  them,"  said  Maria,  "they  will  send 
us  all  into  the  other  life." 

"And  I  would  sooner  go  to  Tamaulipas,"  said  my 
master.  "Shall  we  say  that  we  agree  to  their  condi- 
tions?" 

"What  is  all  our  property,"  quoth  Don  Arcadio, 
"compared  with  the  fulfilment  of  my  plans?  I  very 
willingly  agree." 

"Seizor  Bustamante!"  said  my  master  in  his  loud 
voice.  "Have  the  goodness  to  approach.  We  are  at 
your  disposal." 

Bustamante  shouted  that  we  should  stand  up  and 
hold  our  hands  above  our  heads.  And  as  he  and  his 
followers  came  out  into  the  open  space  we  saw  that 
they  were  numerous.  They  had  their  black  and  red 
striped  rugs  which  fell  down  from  their  shoulders  to 
their  feet,  but  the  sombreros  showed  that  they  were 
Liberal  soldiers.  .  .  .  What  they  wanted  chiefly  were 
the  money  and  the  weapons.  Don  Arcadio  and  Faus- 
tino  helped  in  placing  these  and  other  things  around 
the  fire.  They  treated  us  much  better  than  I  had 
expected,  which  perhaps  was  partly  owing  to  the  pru- 
dence of  the  Noahcite  and  of  Faustino,  who  obeyed 
their  slightest  wish  and  evidently  did  not  want  to  hide 
a  single  thing.  The  Noahcite  inquired  if  they  would 
like  to  have  some  bottles  of  old  brandy,  but  the  captain 
thanked  him  and  declined  it. 

"Notwithstanding,"  said  Don  Arcadio,  "let  us  drink 
each  other's  health." 

And  as  they  drank  they  all  became  so  cordial,  they 
loudly  praised  us  and  they  twined  their  arms  around 
us  and  they  said  that  never  had  they  been  with  trav- 


THE  HOUSE  OF  THE  FIGHTING-COCKS    263 

elers  as  pleasant  as  ourselves,  and  never  had  they 
tasted  any  beverage  more  pleasant  than  this  brandy. 
Don  Arcadio  ordered  that  another  bottle  and  another 
should  be  opened.  He  himself  was  kissed  on  both  his 
cheeks  by  Bustamante,  who  invited  him  to  join  their 
band.  But  Don  Arcadio  said  that  he  must  go  to 
Tamaulipas. 

"We  have  heard  all  that  about  your  gold!"  cried 
Bustamante.  "You  will  never  find  it!  Go  with  us, 
I  say!" 

His  comrades,  who  were  drinking  rapidly,  exhorted 
us  to  go  with  them.  "We  find  more  gold  above  the 
surface,"  they  declared,  "than  you  will  ever  get  in 
Tamaulipas." 

"But,  my  friends,"  said  Don  Arcadio,  "I  know  where 
it  was  hidden  by  the  natives.  And  I  have  my  reasons 
why  I  wish  to  find  it.  One  of  them  is  that  I  shall 
present  a  portion  of  the  gold  to  you." 

They  laughed  at  him,  they  patted  him  upon  the 
back,  they  drank  his  health  again  and  urged  my  master 
to  persuade  him  to  go  with  their  merry  band. 

"Caramba!  if  we  go  with  you  or  if  we  do  not  go," 
my  master  said,  "it  is  not  I  who  want  to  march  to 
Tamaulipas.  In  comparison  with  Don  Arcadio  I  am 
very  ignorant  about  the  metals,  but  I  do  know  that, 
according  to  Agricola,  the  medieval  German,  twelve 
men  who  were  taking  buried  silver  from  a  mine,  the 
Crown  of  Rose,  were  killed  by  a  great  spirit  that  was 
temporarily  inside  a  horse's  body.  I  am  certain  there 
are  many  more  examples.  But  in  loyalty  I  am  obliged 
to  follow  Don  Arcadio." 

Some  of  them  approved  so  thoroughly  of  my  dear 
master  that  they  called  out,  "May  the  Spaniard  live!" 
And  some  of  them  had  fallen  to  the  ground  and  some 
were  singing.    Then  it  was  that  the  large  Aztec  map 


264    THE  HOUSE  OF  THE  FIGHTING-COCKS 

was  found  between  the  blankets  of  the  Noahcite,  and 
he  who  found  it  swore  this  was  a  secret  map  which 
gave  all  their  positions  and  that  Don  Arcadio  was  a 
spy  of  the  Imperialists.  At  once  there  rose  a  pan- 
demonium: "Let  him  be  hanged!"  "The  traitors!" 
"Strip  them  to  the  uttermost!"  "Oh,  fools  that  we 
have  been!"  "They  are  the  instruments  of  the  ac- 
cursed Archduke!"  "Liberty  and  the  Democracy!" 
"Let  all  of  them  be  hanged!"  "This  brandy  has  been 
poisoned!"  "We  are  in  a  trap!"  "The  vile  conspira- 
tors!" "Crowned  devils!"  "They  are  worse  than 
North  Americans!"  "Will  they  escape?"  "Oh,  spare 
the  pretty  kitten!"  "Long  live  Juarez  and  the  Revo- 
lution!" "So  they  would  deceive  us!"  "But  we  are 
not  foolish!"  "Kill  them!"  "After  they  are  tor- 
tured!" 

Then  they  flung  themselves  upon  us.  And  with 
ropes  and  cords  they  started  tying  up  our  hands. 
One  villain  gave  my  master  such  a  blow  that  a  long 
stream  of  blood  came  from  his  forehead.  And  I  do 
not  think  my  master  had  opposed  him  in  the  slightest. 
.  .  .  When  we  all  were  lying  there  so  helplessly  they 
told  us  that  if  any  one  endeavored  to  escape  he  would 
be  shot.  They  settled  down  between  us  and  the  fire, 
on  which  they  piled  more  wood ;  two  men  were  posted 
on  the  outskirts  of  the  open  space,  they  leaned  against 
the  trees  and  watched  us. 

"What  is  this,  you  shameless  one?"  cried  Busta- 
mante,  who  had  overheard  some  angry  words  which 
Don  Arcadio  was  muttering  to  himself.  "My  com- 
rades! He  has  dared  to  say  that  we  are  brigands! 
We,  the  soldiers  of  the  revolution!  We,  who  are  re- 
establishing the  social  guarantees!" 

A  comrade  here  and  there  growled  bloodthirsty  ad- 
vice, but  they  did  not  themselves  rise  up  to  cut  off 


THE  HOUSE  OF  THE  FIGHTING-COCKS     265 

any  part  of  Don  Arcadio's  body.  The  most  sensible 
of  all  of  them  said  it  was  opportune  for  every  one  to 
sleep,  and  the  Imperialists,  he  said,  were  made  like 
that — to  them  there  was  no  difference,  for  they  were 
so  depraved,  there  was  no  difference  between  a  brigand 
who  takes  anything  and  Liberal  soldiers  who  give 
everything  and  are  prepared  to  give  their  lives.  "Lib- 
erty and  the  Democracy!"  said  he.  "And  now  let 
everybody  go  to  sleep." 

They  spoke  no  more  and  even  the  two  sentinels 
appeared  to  have  obeyed  his  bidding.  At  all  events 
they  did  not  stop  me  when  I  rolled  myself  to  where 
my  master  lay.  The  blood  was  now  no  longer  flowing 
from  his  wound  and  he  had  both  his  eyes  shut,  though 
I  could  not  see  if  he  was  sleeping.  .  .  .  How  repulsive 
and  how  cruel  was  the  world,  I  never,  never,  never 
would  do  anything  but  loathe  it,  after  what  had  hap- 
pened to  my  dear  old  master. 

There  was  now  a  little  wind  among  the  treetops, 
and  the  sky  on  which  their  dark  forms  seemed  to 
move  was  growing  paler.  And  the  wind  was  gently 
driving  the  large  clouds. 

I  saw  the  hated  bodies  of  our  foemen  more  dis- 
tinctly. How  I  wished  that  every  one  would  be 
plunged  down  into  the  darkness  of  the  lowest  hell. 

A  silver  lace  was  thrown  across  the  summits  of  the 
trees  and  now  the  mountains  rising  up  behind  them 
had  mysterious  caves  between  the  blackness.  And  the 
moon  came  over  the  black  mountain  range,  and  on 
each  sailing  cloud  it  was  as  if  a  lamp  were  lit,  and 
I  shall  never  see  a  sight  as  beautiful. 


CHAPTER  XIX 

Don  Eugenio  was  sitting  by  me  and  he  had  awak- 
ened me;  the  others  all  seemed  to  be  busy  rolling  up 
the  rugs  or  putting  burdens  on  our  mules.  And  as 
they  walked  about  they  spoke  to  one  another  very 
little  and  they  ate  their  food,  and  I  saw  one  who  gave 
the  Noahcite  a  kick. 

My  master's  face  was  very  mournful  as  he  put  his 
hand  on  mine  and  told  me  that  I  must  observe  most 
carefully  what  he  was  going  to  say.  This  was  for  the 
moment,  so  he  said,  the  thing  which  was  most  pressing. 
Then  he  told  me  that  Maria  now  belonged  to  Busta- 
mante  and  that  if  a  word  or  glance  of  mine  displeased 
the  captain  he  would  probably  assassinate  me. 

I  was  horrified  to  hear  that  this  big  blustering  fellow 
had  so  soon  succeeded,  even  though  Maria  was  Maria. 
Could  she  not  have  been  more  faithful  to  me  and  to 
Don  Eugenio?  Yes,  really  when  I  looked  at  my  dear 
master's  mournful  face  and  at  the  wound  upon  his 
brow,  I  was  indignant  with  Maria  more  especially  be- 
cause she  had  abandoned  him. 

"Poor  Don  Eugenio,"  said  I,  "and  it  was  you  that 
rescued  her.    She  is  a  monster  of  ingratitude." 

He  smiled  a  little.  "If,"  said  he,  "we  had  applied 
ourselves  more  thoroughly  to  Roger  Bacon,  who  was 
a  great  alchemist  and  chemist  also,  then  perhaps  we 
could  explain  by  chemistry  why  the  affections  of  a 
woman  alter.  Mind  you,  it  would  not  console  me. 
And  in  this  case  other  agencies  were  brought  to  bear. 
But  I  am  grieved  that  we  were  cut  off  in  the  middle 
of  our  geological  researches.    I  believe  the  chief  law 

266 


THE  HOUSE  OF  THE  FIGHTING-COCKS    267 

of  that  science,  which  is  the  phenomenon  of  the  in- 
ternal heat  of  mines,  is  at  the  bottom  of  Bacon's  entire 
chemical  theory.  It  would  have  remained  for  us  to 
study  the  internal  heat  of  men  and  women.  I  am 
grieved  that  we  have  not  applied  ourselves  to  this 
most  fascinating  subject." 

One  of  Bustamante's  followers  came  up  and  roughly 
ordered  Don  Eugenio  to  place  himself  among  the  rest, 
between  the  riders. 

"But  are  you  not  grieved,"  I  said,  as  we  were  doing 
what  this  man  commanded,  "are  you  not  a  little 
grieved  because  Maria  has  deserted  you?" 

"I  ordered  her  to  do  it,"  said  my  master.  "And 
remember  to  be  very  careful,  as  I  told  you." 

But  there  was  no  risk  of  any  indiscretion,  for  Maria 
rode  beside  her  lover,  far  ahead  of  us,  and  we  four 
luckless  ones  on  foot  were  in  the  middle  of  the  caval- 
cade. Thank  heaven  that  the  road  was  very  bad  for 
horses,  which  prevented  them  from  going  fast;  in  fact, 
the  horses  often  were  obliged  to  stop  and  test  a  boulder 
with  their  front  legs — this  was  one  of  the  old  Spanish 
highways  that  had  fallen  into  disrepair.  What  we 
most  suffered  from  was  the  uncertainty  about  our  fate. 
And  we  should  have  been  glad  to  know  where  we  were 
being  taken  to.  The  horsemen  just  in  front  of  us  and 
just  behind  us  merely  uttered  a  contemptuous  word 
from  time  to  time,  and  later  on  they  scarcely  spoke 
to  us  at  all.  And  so  it  came  about  that  Don  Eugenio 
was  able  to  explain  to  me  how  he  had  managed  with 
Maria. 

"It  was  in  the  middle  of  the  night,"  he  said,  "that 
I  was  roused  by  those  two  persons,  who  requested 
me  to  go  with  them  into  the  jungle.  Bustamante's 
manner  had  completely  changed — he  brought  back  to 
my  mind  a  certain  picture  in  the  Soul-Combat  of  Pru- 


268    THE  HOUSE  OF  THE  FIGHTING-COCKS 

dentius,  the  Christian  poet;  we  had  a  good  copy  of 
this  book  at  Zaragoza,  with  uncolored  illustrations  of 
the  tenth  century,  and  Bustamante  did  indeed  resemble 
one  of  the  five  anxious  Virtues  who  are  interviewing 
Avarice.  You  probably  will  not  believe  me,  but  when 
I  looked  at  the  girl  I  saw  in  her  an  even  greater 
similarity  to  Avarice,  whose  hands  are  open  and  whose 
eyes  are  very  round  and  whose  expression  is  so  inno- 
cent. They  whispered  that  if  I  would  go  with  them 
into  the  jungle  I  could  settle  what  they  had  to  put 
before  me  and  they  would  infallibly  abide  by  my 
decision.  It  appeared  that  she  had  been  rejecting  his 
advances;  and  the  captain  told  me  that  in  matters 
of  this  kind  he  was  extremely  chivalrous.  He  never 
took  a  girl,  he  said,  against  her  will,  and  he  believed 
that  this  characteristic  had  made  him  famous  through- 
out the  region.  Well,  Maria  had  referred  him  to  my- 
self; if  I  agreed  then  she  would  raise  no  further  ob- 
stacle. Of  course  I  could  have  given  my  consent  im- 
mediately and  saved  myself  some  inconvenience,  but 
I  thought  it  would  be  more  becoming  if  I  went  with 
them  into  the  jungle.  Now  I  do  not  know  if  I  was 
right  or  wrong,  but  I  was  under  the  impression  that 
Maria  would  consent  as  soon  as  I  had  said  the  slight- 
est word  and  thus  I  was  a  little  sore  that  I  should 
have  been  roused  so  needlessly.  Aye,  that  is  how 
they  irritate  us.  It  is  doubtful  whether  I  should  have 
been  able  to  preserve  the  proper  frame  of  mind  if  I 
had  not  remembered  what  some  holy  ones  have  said 
concerning  women.  First  of  all,  if  we  should  be  dis- 
posed to  think  ourselves  superior  to  them  and  there- 
fore to  rejoice,  we  have  the  salutary  words  of  Saint 
John  Chrysostom,  the  Archbishop  of  Constantinople: 
'We  are  ordained,'  said  he,  'to  rule  over  them;  not 
merely  that  we  may  rule,  but  that  we  may  rule  in 


THE  HOUSE  OF  THE  FIGHTING-COCKS     269 

goodness  also;  for  he  that  ruleth  ought  especially  to 
rule  in  this  respect,  by  excelling  in  virtue;  whereas 
if  he  is  surpassed  he  is  no  longer  the  ruler.'  And, 
with  regard  to  the  waywardness  of  women,  I  remem- 
bered happily  the  words  of  that  sagacious  Father  who 
advised  us  to  suspect  a  woman  if  her  actions  seemed 
all  clear  and  open;  such  a  woman,  said  that  Father, 
was  an  emissary  of  the  Devil  and  no  real  woman  who 
inherited  from  Eve  some  trace  of  sin  and  who  might 
also  hope  she  would  inherit  the  Kingdom  of  Heaven. 
This  Father  whose  well-balanced  writings,  my  dear 
Juanito,  I  commend  to  you  most  warmly — wise  men 
will  be  guided  by  them  after  you  and  I  and  this 
ridiculous  old  Noahcite  are  totally  forgotten — well, 
this  Father  says,  in  one  of  his  main  chapters,  that  it 
is  most  excellent  to  have  one's  own  opinion,  though 
it  is  a  thing  for  which  one  has  to  pay.  And  it  is  his 
opinion  that  the  woman  you  need  not  suspect  is  she 
who  on  the  one  hand  does  not  ostentatiously  lay  all 
her  actions  bare,  and  on  the  other  hand  does  not  con- 
ceal them  absolutely.  She  in  whom  we  place  our  con- 
fidence must  regulate  her  actions  towards  us  even  as 
she  regulates  her  dress.  I  may  inform  you  that  the 
average  man  is  not  attracted  nor  repelled  by  what  is 
in  a  woman's  soul;  the  voice  that  speaks  to  him  im- 
periously is  the  body  of  a  woman.  And  the  woman 
knows  it,  whether  he  does  or  does  not.  She  has  the 
sense  to  take  the  average  man,  beyond  all  others, 
into  her  consideration,  and  she  usually  lets  him  see 
of  her  a  little  less  than  he  believes  he  would  like 
to  see.  'Strong  and  perfect  as  are  Urim  and  Thummin 
on  the  breastplate  of  the  high  priest,'  says  that  ven- 
erated Father,  'just  as  strong  and  perfect  is  the  man 
who  knoweth  what  he  wants.'  The  robes  of  women 
seem  to  the  philosopher  to  be  designed  not  so  much 


270    THE  HOUSE  OF  THE  FIGHTING-COCKS 

for  the  purpose  of  obscuring  and  of  veiling  the  fine 
texture  and  the  outlines  of  her  body  as  the  texture  and 
the  outlines  of  the  thoughts  of  man.  Now  they  have 
said  that  the  most  futile  error  of  a  human  being  is 
to  prophesy,  for  he  is  ignorant  of  what  the  future 
has  in  store;  and  yet  is  it  not  much  more  foolish  for 
a  man  to  guess  and  guess  at  what  he  knows  already? 
Think  of  all  the  years  which  men  have  spent  in  pon- 
dering about  a  woman's  body.  And  before  you  think 
of  judging  any  woman,  ask  yourself  if  you  would  like 
her  to  be  judging  you. 

"Bueno,  we  went  out  into  the  jungle.  Bustamante 
walked  in  front,  to  show  the  way  to  us;  Maria  and 
myself  walked  hand  in  hand.  He  led  us  carefully  and 
we  kept  close  behind  him.  Underneath  the  trees  the 
ground  was  very  soft  and  mossy,  but  we  did  not  seat 
ourselves  till  Bustamante  thought  we  had  gone  far 
enough  to  talk  without  arousing  any  one.  However, 
we  did  very  little  talking  and  the  little  that  there  was 
was  very  friendly.  I  reminded  him  of  what  Cervantes 
says,  that  things  which  cost  a  trifle  are  not  much 
esteemed.  He  said  he  loved  her  more  than  any  woman 
he  had  ever  owned.  And  I  said  that  a  woman's  love 
is  far  too  often  cast  like  sunbeams  on  a  dunghill  and 
the  dunghill  then  becomes,  I  said,  more  disagreeable. 
But  if  he  really  loved  Maria  there  must  be  some  good- 
ness in  him.  And  he  asked  Maria  to  embrace  me, 
which  she  did,  and  then  I  left  them." 

While  my  master  was  discoursing  to  me  in  this 
memorable  fashion  we  continued  to  advance,  as  best 
we  could,  along  that  ancient  highway.  At  a  certain 
point  it  made  abruptly  for  the  mountain  barrier,  and 
we  struck  off  towards  the  lowlands.  Then  a  horseman 
was  so  kind  as  to  inform  us  that  we  also  should  be 
going  over  there  to  Tamaulipas,  but  we  had  to  cross 


THE  HOUSE  OF  THE  FIGHTING-COCKS    271 

the  boundary  a  little  further  down.  It  was  much 
pleasanter  for  us  to  walk  along  these  meadows  than  it 
had  been  on  the  road.  And  fortunately  they  were 
saving  up  their  horses,  so  that  we  were  not  compelled 
to  walk  more  rapidly.  The  meadows  had  upon  them, 
here  and  there,  a  cow — perhaps  the  owner  of  them  was 
a  Liberal,  and  so  we  let  them  graze  in  peace.  But 
suddenly  we  heard  a  shot,  and  saw  that  one  of  them 
was  lying  on  her  side  and  kicking.  It  was  Bustamante 
who  had  done  this,  for  Maria's  sake.  He  had  been 
asking  her,  as  we  learned  presently,  what  he  could 
give  her  to  display  the  greatness  of  his  love;  and  she, 
who  might  have  easily  obtained  the  silver  decorations 
on  his  hat  or  some  of  his  gay  buttons  or  a  piece  or 
two  of  gold,  was  moved  to  think  of  something  higher. 
She  had  heard  that  people  in  the  large  towns  some- 
times drink  the  milk  of  cows,  which  is  procured  in  tins 
from  foreign  countries,*  and  she  said  that  it  would 
give  her  much  delight  to  have  a  cup  of  cow's  milk. 
That  is  why  her  lover  Bustamante  shot  the  cow.  And 
while  this  matter  was  attended  to,  we  others  walked  a 
little  way  and  then  sank  down  upon  a  slope  amid  green 
bushy  shrubs  and  brilliant  floripundio  flowers.  The 
horsemen  waited  on  their  animals  till  Bustamante 
should  arrive,  and  when  he  came  he  was  in  such  good 
humor  that  he  said  we  would  have  our  siesta  in  this 
place  and  would  not  march  away  until  Maria  wished 
it.    He  dismounted,  as  did  all  the  others. 

Soon  they  were  all  lounging  on  the  grass  or  lying 
prostrate  with  their  hats  upon  their  faces,  to  protect 
themselves  from  insects.  One  or  two  of  them  repaired 
a  saddle  or  began  to  clean  a  gun,  but  far  the  busiest 
person  was  Maria,  who  had  started  with  enormous 

*  See  Note  II.,  p.  305. 


272    THE  HOUSE  OF  THE  FIGHTING-COCKS 

zeal  to  make  tortillas.  On  her  knees  she  rubbed  and 
rubbed  the  flour  and  did  not  once  look  up,  for  she 
was  anxious  not  to  meet  the  eyes  of  her  old  friends. 
We  four  sat  down  together;  I  remember  it  as  well 
as  if  it  happened  yesterday  how  Don  Eugenio,  to  make 
himself  more  comfortable,  took  out  from  his  breast 
the  several  books  which  he  was  carrying — some  of 
the  pious  ones  from  Zaragoza  and  that  other  one  which 
was  about  a  Mexican  Archbishop  and  which  was  en- 
titled "Safeguard  against  Oblivion."  Bustamante 
stood  behind  Maria,  to  encourage  her — his  eyes  were 
glowing — and  at  last  when  she  had  made  a  few  tortillas 
and  some  other  food  had  been  unpacked  we,  most 
of  us,  were  eating.  We  were  eating  in  an  indolent 
and  airy  fashion,  for  it  was  extremely  hot,  and  there 
was  not  much  conversation.  We  four  prisoners  were 
treated  nonchalantly;  they  were  talking  to  us  just  as 
much  as  to  each  other  and  in  fact  we  all  were  at  our 
ease.  Then  Bustamante,  who  was  seated  now  beside 
Maria  and  was  looking  at  her  very  tenderly — not 
caring  whether  any  one  observed  it — Bustamante 
turned  to  Don  Arcadio  and  told  him  casually  that 
he  thought  his  execution  would  take  place  on  the  next 
morning,  that  is,  if  we  came  that  night  to  San  Geronimo 
in  Tamaulipas,  where  the  trial  would  be  held. 

It  was  extraordinary  how  calm  the  Noahcite  was. 
Perhaps  he  had  been  sure  that  this  would  happen; 
but  I  never  thought  that  he  could  so  control  himself. 
The  work  to  which  he  had  devoted  all  his  life  would 
now  be  wasted.  And  he  did  not  seem  to  care.  And, 
on  the  other  hand,  he  did  not  let  a  supercilious  smile 
be  on  his  lips;  I  had  been  told  that  heroes  when  they 
were  condemned  invariably  wore  it.  Don  Arcadio's 
face  was  serious,  but  not  more  serious  than  usual.  As 
I  gazed  at  him  I  told  myself  that  he  was  much  more 


THE  HOUSE  OF  THE  FIGHTING-COCKS    273 

difficult  to  understand  than  Don  Eugenio.  But  al- 
though I  did  not  understand  him  properly,  there  may 
be  clever  people  who,  from  my  description,  will  know 
more  of  him  than  ever  was  vouchsafed  to  me. 

Then  Bustamante  spoke:  "In  years  that  have  gone 
by,"  said  he,  "when  I  was  no  politician  and  no  patriot 
I  used  to  be  a  shoemaker,  and  I  have  made  for  you 
and  for  your  father  and  your  brother  who  are  dead. 
It  grieves  me  that  I  have  to  put  an  end  to  you." 

"But  if  you  think  I  am  a  spy,"  said  Don  Arcadio, 
very  simply,  "then  you  have  no  choice." 

"Caramba,"  said  the  captain,  "I  will  not  allow  you 
to  be  shot  in  that  way,  without  honor.  Since  I  was 
so  well-acquainted  with  your  family  and  you,  I  will 
arrange  a  very  noble  ceremony  for  to-morrow  morning. 
And  when  you  see  your  father  and  your  brother  after- 
wards, I  hope  that  you  will  all  three  be  so  generous  as 
to  pray  for  me  who  need  your  prayers.  It  is  myself 
that  I  am  speaking  of."  He  had  been  growing  more 
and  more  affected.  Now  he  turned  his  back  abruptly 
on  the  Noahcite,  and  I  could  see  his  shoulders  twitch- 
ing. 

As  for  poor  Faustino,  he  sat  helplessly  and  hope- 
lessly beside  us.  Tears  were  following  each  other 
down  his  cheeks,  but  he  did  not  make  any  sound.  And 
Don  Eugenio  cleared  his  throat  and  said  that  he  would 
read  a  little  from  a  book. 

"It  is  a  lesson  for  us  all,"  said  he,  "to  contemplate 
the  grandeur  of  the  Noahcite.  His  very  lofty  aim  is 
unachieved,  alas !  and  he  does  not  revile  his  fate.  But 
if  he  thinks  that  all  of  him  will  be  forgotten,  he  may 
like  to  hear  a  passage  from  this  book." 

"May  the  Devil  seize  you!"  Bustamante  cried.  He 
shook  his  fist  above  his  head,  but  did  not  turn  his  body 
round  towards  us.     "Will  you  leave  the  man  alone, 


274    THE  HOUSE  OF  THE  FIGHTING-COCKS 

for  he  is  in  a  corner  out  of  which  he  never  will  escape. 
I  pity  him,  I  tell  you." 

"And  I  pity  you,"  said  Don  Eugenio  serenely,  "if 
you  think  that  there  is  no  escape.  Whether  he  dies 
sooner  or  dies  later,  he  will  not  be  killed  entirely.  As 
for  you,  permit  me  to  remind  you  of  the  very  foolish 
Pluches  who  wrote  the  Spectacle  de  la  Nature  and 
said — he  was  an  enemy  of  Newton's — that  if  the  great 
mass  had  such  a  power  of  attraction  he  could  not  com- 
prehend how  anybody  could  escape  out  of  a  corner 
of  Notre  Dame.  .  .  .  This  book,"  my  master  said,  "is 
by  Antonio  de  Robles,  a  notary  public,  a  commissary 
of  the  Holy  Office,  an  ecclesiastical  judge  and  so  forth." 

Practically  every  one  was  staring  at  my  master  on 
account  of  his  rebuke  to  Bustamante.  I  suppose  that 
they  had  never  heard  their  leader  spoken  to  in  such  a 
way.  And  one  or  two  of  them  were  smiling  grimly, 
but  I  was  uncertain  of  the  reason. 

Then  the  Noahcite  addressed  my  master:  "I  am 
interested  in  your  book,"  said  he,  "but  I  should  like 
to  tell  you  that  since  yesterday  a  change  has  come 
to  my  philosophy.  What  I  have  hitherto  pursued  was 
knowledge,  all  the  knowledge  of  the  human  race,  and 
thus  I  was  to  grasp  at  happiness,  which  I  would  then 
bestow  on  all  the  world.  But  I  have  come  to  the 
conclusion  that  a  greater  thing  than  happiness  is 
beauty.  I  am  glad  that  I  discovered  this  in  time. 
Well,  I  am  ready  for  your  admirable  book,  and  pray 
do  not  stop  to  congratulate  me  or  to  comment  on 
my  new  pursuit.  These  gentlemen  would  like  to  hear 
what  you  have  got  to  read." 

"So  be  it,"  Don  Eugenio  said.  "I  see  the  date  is 
1757.  I  will  try  to  find  the  profitable  passages,"  he 
said;  and  for  a  long  time,  while  he  did  so,  everybody 
watched  him.    But  Maria  went  on  making  the  tortillas, 


THE  HOUSE  OF  THE  FIGHTING-COCKS    275 

which  were  passed  from  hand  to  hand,  as  also  were 
the  strips  of  meat.  I  did  not  know  how  long  we 
would  remain,  but  no  one  seemed  to  be  in  any  hurry 
to  depart — they  lay  among  the  gorgeous  flowers,  and 
they  slowly  ate  and  watched  my  master.  He  was 
eating  while  he  read;  he  searched  and  searched  the 
book,  and  his  expression  always  grew  more  fixed.  So 
concentrated  was  he  on  his  task  that  I  am  sure  he 
did  not  know  his  hand  was  carrying  from  time  to 
time  some  food  into  his  mouth.  And  when  at  last 
he  spoke  to  us  his  mouth  was  rather  full. 

"Unhappily,"  he  said,  "this  man,  Antonio  de  Robles, 
does  not  appear  to  have,  as  I  had  confidently  hoped, 
a  general  safeguard  against  oblivion.  He  considers 
only  his  particular  Archbishop,  who  will  be  remem- 
bered, so  he  says,  because  of  certain  merits.  By  the 
way,  have  we  not  all  of  us  observed  that  if  a  person 
is  the  subject  of  a  brief  discussion  he  may  have  been 
favorably  judged,  whereas  if  the  discussion  is  a  long 
one  he  will  have  been  judged  severely?  And  I  think 
that  the  Archbishop  would  have  made  himself  more 
safe  against  oblivion  if  Antonio  de  Robles  had  put 
down  a  series  of  demerits.  Here,"  said  Don  Eugenio, 
"in  the  twentieth  chapter  is  the  list  of  qualities:  'His 
aloofness  and  his  understanding,  his  humility,  his 
inimitable  temperance  and  mortification,  his  purity 
and  chastity,  his  wonderful  haranguing  and  the  sacred 
exercises  of  his  soul'  " — at  this  point  Don  Eugenio 
paused  and  finished  what  was  in  his  mouth — "  'the 
gift  of  tears,  which  he  was  even  wont  to  shed  while 
he  was  sleeping.'  Is  it  necessary  to  read  on?  I  must 
admit  that  if  a  man  is  capable  of  shedding  tears  for 
his  iniquities  or  any  other  thing  while  he  is  sleeping, 
everybody — except  the  individual  who  may  be  called 
upon  to  share  his  bed — must  unreservedly  admire  him. 


276    THE  HOUSE  OF  THE  FIGHTING-COCKS 

How  will  such  a  man  of  marvels  be  forgotten?  Yes, 
it  seems  to  me  that  you  will  never  find  a  greater  man 
among  the  holy  ones,  or  in  the  words  of  Augustine: 
Si  Sanctorum  singulorum  perquirerem  vitas,  ut  puto 
majorem  neminem  invenirem."  And  my  master,  who 
at  first  lost  his  patience  with  the  book,  had  now  re- 
gained his  equanimity.  He  turned  back  to  the  early 
pages,  and  his  smile  was  like  a  blessing.  He  was  per- 
fectly absorbed. 

And  when,  at  Bustamante's  signal,  every  one  pre- 
pared to  start  again,  then  Don  Eugenio  got  up.  He 
did  not  seem  to  know  what  he  was  doing,  and  the 
happy  smile  remained  upon  his  face  until  Faustino 
brought  the  mule  to  him,  and  then  he  was  astonished. 
But  Faustino  told  him  that  we  all — himself  included — 
would  be  riding  now,  in  order  to  reach  San  Geronimo 
that  night. 

We  sped  through  numbers  of  green  meadows  and 
the  trees  went  flying  past  us.  All  the  afternoon  we 
hurried  on — there  was  no  road  at  all,  and  I  am  not 
sure  if  we  were  avoiding  any  villages.  We  rode  down 
two  ravines,  that  were  both  steep  and  rocky;  we 
climbed  up  on  the  side  opposite.  And  towards  the 
fall  of  night  I  grew  so  tired  that  I  did  not  for  a  time 
brush  off  a  yellow  insect  from  my  hand,  though  he 
was  drawing  blood.  I  merely  looked  at  him.  And 
it  was  in  the  dark  when  finally  we  found  ourselves 
upon  a  road,  and  then  the  palm-trees  gave  way  to  a 
hedge  of  cactus — we  were  in  the  place  called  San 
Geronimo. 

This  was  in  the  possession  of  the  Liberals,  and  in 
a  very  little  time  we  had  an  escort  of  white  figures 
who  rose  up  from  where  they  had  been  sitting  near 
the  hedge  or  came  out  of  their  little  houses.  As  they 
walked  along  beside  us,  some  of  our  men  told  them 


THE  HOUSE  OF  THE  FIGHTING-COCKS     277 

of  a  series  of  great  exploits,  ending  up  with  the  defeat 
and  capture  of  ourselves.  I  was  so  weary  that  I 
could  not  notice  much,  but  over  everything  there  was 
the  stolid  silence  of  these  villagers.  They  were  so 
different  from  the  natives  of  Jalapa  and  so  like  too 
many  people  of  my  native  Colorado. 

Then  we  halted.  I  could  see  two  men  with  torches 
who  had  come  to  speak  to  Bustamante.  And  instead 
of  taking  us  to  some  place  where  we  could  lie  down, 
they  and  the  rest  of  us  went  to  the  largest  house,  the 
house  of  the  alcalde.  They  were  going  to  hold  the 
trial  of  the  Noahcite. 

Outside  the  house  there  was  a  great  deal  of  con- 
fusion, as  the  followers  of  Bustamante  all  got  off  their 
horses  and  in  vain  they  looked  for  any  one  who  would 
take  care  of  them.  The  whole  of  San  Geronimo  was 
pushing  into  the  alcalde's  house.  They  did  not  mind 
how  much  the  followers  of  Bustamante  cursed  them. 
And  the  men  with  torches  even  struck  at  one  or  two. 
I  heard  the  shout  of  somebody  who  said  that  he  had 
lived  in  San  Geronimo  for  sixty  years  and  let  them 
try  their  culprit  in  another  place,  said  he,  if  they 
intended  to  deprive  the  people  of  their  rights.  Then 
I  saw  Bustamante  pushing  in  with  Don  Arcadio  and 
some  others. 

In  the  midst  of  all  the  turmoil  and  as  I  was  standing 
with  my  mule,  a  horseman  threw  his  reins  around 
my  head  and  then  another  did  the  same,  and  several 
others  put  their  reins  into  my  hands.  I  found  myself 
with  half  a  dozen  animals  to  watch,  but  they  all  looked 
as  weary  as  I  was  myself.  And  when  Maria's  voice 
was  in  my  ear  and  she  was  making  me  some  propo- 
sitions I  let  all  the  reins  drop,  for  I  knew  these  crea- 
tures would  not  run  away.  Maria  wanted  me  to  lift 
her  up,  because  the  windows  were  so  high.    And  after- 


278    THE  HOUSE  OF  THE  FIGHTING-COCKS 

wards,  she  said,  she  would  lift  me  up  also,  and  in  that 
way  we  would  see  the  whole  of  Don  Arcadio's  trial. 

I  went  with  her  very  eagerly,  until  we  came  to 
where  some  of  the  natives  had  assembled,  underneath 
a  window,  and  we  followed  their  example :  I  bent  down, 
Maria  stood  upon  my  back  and  with  her  hand  she 
grasped  the  iron  bars.  She  told  me  that  she  could 
see  very  well  indeed.  But  I  was  being  pushed  about 
by  other  people  who  had  reached  the  window  after  us. 
Maria  said  that  our  three  friends  were  all  together, 
but  the  people  who  surrounded  us  began  to  make  so 
great  a  noise  that  neither  she  nor  I  could  hear  what 
those  inside  the  room  were  saying.  And  Maria  was 
so  heavy  that  I  wished  we  had  not  come.  I  touched 
her  legs  and  said  that  it  would  be  better  if  we  went 
away,  but  she  pretended  not  to  hear  me. 

"Bustamante  speaks!"  she  cried,  "and  he  is  waving 
both  his  arms." 

"Oh,  you  nephew  of  the  Devil!"  growled  a  man 
beside  me.  "You  are  keeping  me  away.  And  who 
are  you?" 

He  and  the  others  started  arguing,  for  some  said 
that  as  strangers  we  must  be  received  with  courtesy 
and  others  swore  that  they  would  not  allow  us  to 
remain.  Of  course,  with  all  this  added  noise  it  was 
impossible  for  any  one  to  hear  a  word  of  Don  Arcadio's 
trial.  And  I  wondered  why  the  men  inside  the  room 
did  not  throw  water  on  us  or  inform  us  in  some  other 
way  that  we  must  have  respect  for  Justice. 

Suddenly  I  thought  that  as  Maria  had  been  so  un- 
faithful to  me,  why  should  I  be  helping  her  in  such  a 
slavish  manner?  No,  I  would  not  for  another  moment. 
And  I  moved  away,  I  staggered  out  from  all  those 
people,  out  into  the  doorway  of  another  house,  and 
soon  Maria  came  and  sat  down  at  my  side. 


THE  HOUSE  OF  THE  FIGHTING-COCKS    279 

"We  only  have  to  listen  to  them,"  so  she  said,  "and 
it  will  be  as  if  we  saw  it  all  ourselves." 

"Oh,  you  nephew  of  the  Devil  1"  I  exclaimed.  I 
shook  her  off  and  she  began  to  cry. 

"If — if,"  she  sobbed,  "you  really  loved  me,  if 
you  .  .  ." 

And  I  asked  her  roughly  to  be  quiet. 

"You  would  know,"  she  sobbed,  "how  difficult  it  is 
to  be  a  girl.    You  are  the  one  I  love,  by  all  the  saints." 

"And  what  of  Bustamante?" 

She  was  pouring  kisses  over  me,  and  in  my  ear  she 
murmured  that  we  would  escape  together,  like  the  man 
whom  Don  Eugenio  was  talking  of. 

We  sat  there  very  peacefully  and  we  paid  no  atten- 
tion to  the  varied  noises.  Once  I  thought  that  I  could 
hear  Faustino,  then  again  it  was  a  whirl  of  sound. 
And  we  were  happy.  I  believe  we  sat  there  for  a  long 
time. 

Somewhere  in  the  night  a  bird  was  singing,  and  I 
shivered,  for  I  thought  of  Don  Arcadio. 

"Oh,  kiss  me,  kiss  me,"  sighed  Maria, 


CHAPTER  XX 

We  stayed  there  till  the  crowd  of  natives  at  the 
window  suddenly  dissolved  itself  and  passed  into  the 
night.  They  went  in  almost  perfect  silence,  and  the 
people  who  were  streaming  out  of  the  alcalde's  house 
were  so  subdued  that  I  could  hope  that  Don  Arcadio's 
fate  was  undecided.  Surely  if  they  had  resolved  to 
shoot  him  as  a  spy  they  would  have  shrieked  their 
"Liberty  and  the  Democracy!"  or  some  such  words 
of  triumph.  But  when  I  ran  forward  to  a  little  group 
I  heard  them  say  at  once  that  it  would  be  in  a  few 
hours.  Well,  why  had  they  not  triumphed  over  the 
poor  Noahcite?  I  thought  that  the  most  likely  ex- 
planation was  that  Don  Eugenio  had  pleaded  for  him. 

Bustamante  came  on  to  the  steps  of  the  alcalde's 
house;  he  looked  as  stern  as  possible,  and  he  was  tug- 
ging his  mustache.  But,  nevertheless,  Maria  made 
her  way  towards  him.    And  he  nodded  at  her. 

I  did  not  feel  absolutely  confident  about  the  fate  of 
Don  Eugenio,  and  when  at  last  the  flow  of  people  from 
the  house  was  finished  and  the  door  was  shut  and  he 
had  not  emerged  I  was  afraid  to  question  anybody. 
But  when  I  reached  the  back  of  the  alcalde's  house  I 
heard  my  name;  and  there  was  my  dear  master  in 
the  blackness  of  a  cellar  dungeon.  He  had  seen  me 
passing  overhead  as  he  looked  out  into  the  night  of 
stars.  But  when  I  tremulously  asked  what  they  were 
going  to  do  with  him,  he  told  me  that  the  other  two 
were  in  the  dungeon  also;  they  were  utterly  exhausted 
and  asleep.     He  did  not  know  if  there  would  be  a 

280 


THE  HOUSE  OF  THE  FIGHTING-COCKS    281 

priest  for  Don  Arcadio's  confession,  and  he  was  en- 
deavoring to  make  himself  as  worthy  as  he  could 
for  this  last  office. 

"You  may  know,"  said  he,  "that  if  there  is  no 
priest  available,  the  Catholic  father  of  a  dying  child 
must  christen  it  himself;  the  water  may  be  ordinary 
clean  water.  And  I  think,  for  Don  Arcadio's  con- 
fession, that  it  is  incumbent  on  me  to  remove  out  of 
my  mind  as  much  uncleanliness  as  possible.  Oh,  I 
have  never  thought  of  my  untoward  life  with  half  the 
sorrow  that  I  feel  at  present.  But,  in  spite  of  it,  I 
am  afraid  that  I  would  also  fall  asleep  if  I  sat  down." 

"But  is  your  life  in  jeopardy?"  I  asked. 

He  shook  his  head.  "Now  go  away,  my  son,"  said 
he,  "and  come  back  here  soon  after  dawn." 

I  had  to  ask  him  if  he  did  not  think  it  horrible  that 
Don  Arcadio,  who  was  such  a  blameless  man  and  so 
benevolent,  should  have  to  die  in  this  way.  And  my 
master  said  that  if  I  wanted  to  prolong  his  life  he 
would  advise  me  to  secure  the  flesh  of  winged  serpents. 
He  informed  me  that  he  had  it  out  of  Roger  Bacon  how 
they  were  employed  with  great  effect  by  Tantalus, 
a  man  who  was  attached  to  the  person  of  the  King  of 
India.  But  if  Plato  and  Aristotle  failed  to  prolong 
their  existence  it  v/as  not  surprising,  for  they  were 
ignorant  even  of  the  quadrature  of  the  circle  which 
Bacon  declares  to  have  been  well  known  at  his  time, 
and  which  is  indefinitely  inferior  to  the  grand  medical 
doctrine  of  Tantalus. 

As  he  was  saying  this  my  master  laughed.  He 
laughed  in  such  a  fashion  that  I  could  not  bear  to  look 
at  him.  He  put  his  hand  out  through  the  iron  bars 
and  gripped  me  round  the  wrist,  in  order  to  encourage 
me.    And  then  I  crept  away. 

It  seemed  to  me,  as  I  went  wandering  along  the 


282    THE  HOUSE  OF  THE  FIGHTING-COCKS 

dark,  deserted  roads  of  San  Geronimo,  that  in  this 
world  there  was  no  justice  anywhere.  Why  should  a 
man  like  Don  Arcadio  be  executed,  for  although  I 
did  not  understand  his  beautiful,  great,  philanthropic 
scheme,  of  course  it  must  be  understood  by  God,  and 
why  did  God  allow  him  to  be  murdered?  Surely  there 
could  be  no  God,  I  thought;  and  as  the  watchman 
strode  along  he  raised  his  melancholy  voice  and  cried, 
"It  wants  an  hour  to  midnight,  it  is  calm  and  very 
dark."  He  carried  an  old  soldier's  lance  upon  his 
shoulder,  and  the  iron  tip  of  it  was  faintly  gleaming 
in  the  starlight.  There  was  no  trace  of  the  moon,  but 
all  the  sky  was  lit  with  stars  and  they  were  shining 
very  brilliantly.  "It  wants  an  hour  to  midnight," 
cried  the  watchman,  "it  is  calm  and  very  dark."  He 
walked  across  an  open  space — I  followed  him — and 
I  could  see  him  quite  distinctly.  He  himself  must 
have  perceived  that  it  was  lighter,  for  his  lance  turned 
backwards  and  he  was  examining  the  sky;  but  he 
continued  with  the  same  announcement,  "It  is  calm 
and  very  dark."  And  as  I  looked  at  all  those  stars 
they  seemed  to  me  to  be  ilie  eyes  of  God.  And  I 
stood  still  and  gazed  at  them.  The  watchman  passed 
away  from  me,  so  that  I  could  no  longer  see  him,  but 
I  still  could  hear  him  calling,  "Calm  and  very  dark." 
I  found  a  shelter  underneath  a  hedge  of  cactus,  and 
at  daybreak  I  was  wakened  by  the  noise  of  some  ex- 
cited people.  They  were  arguing  with  one  another  very 
vehemently,  and  I  heard  them  say  it  was  a  scandal 
and  an  outrage.  They  were  gathered  round  a  thin, 
tall,  nervous-looking  fellow,  and  he  clearly  was  amused. 
They  shouted  at  him,  but  his  answer  was  to  hold  up 
all  the  fingers  of  one  hand.  "It  is  exorbitant!  You 
are  a  sinful  man  of  avarice!  Oh,  wait,"  they  cried, 
"until  you  have  the  yellow  fever!     Do  you  think  that 


THE  HOUSE  OF  THE  FIGHTING-COCKS    283 

we  have  endless  money?"  And  they  shouted  other 
things. 

One  old  dilapidated  woman  stood  apart,  and  in  a 
cracked  voice  she  was  saying,  "Jesus,  Jesus,  Jesus." 
I  could  see  that  she  was  counting  on  her  fingers.  And 
when  she  had  thus  invoked  the  name  sufficiently  she 
lifted  up  her  miserable  voice  and  sang: 

''Get  thee,  Satan,  far  from  me. 
Near  my  death-bed  thou  shalt  not  be, 
Seeing  that  upon  the  day 
Of  Holy  Cross  I  used  to  say 
A  thousand  times  Jesus,  Jesus, 
Jesus,  Jesus,  Jesus,  Jesus." 

Then  she  continued  with  the  recitation  of  her  kind  of 
rosary.  And  all  the  time  those  angry  persons  were 
entirely  taken  up  with  the  tall  man.  He  shook  his 
head  and  smiled  at  them,  the  more  they  objurgated 
him.  "And  only  for  the  reason  that  you  are  a  friend 
of  the  alcalde!  It  is  monstrous!  Why  should  you 
have  such  a  place  instead  of  us?  For  God's  sake,  will 
you  sell  it  for  three  ounces?"  But  the  man  held  all 
his  fingers  up  and  went  on  smiling.  "Wait  until  your 
luck  deserts  you!  Then  in  our  turn  we  shall  laugh!" 
so  they  exclaimed.  "And  why  should  you  be  of  the 
firing-party  more  than  Tomas  or  Angel  or  Cristobalito 
or  any  of  us?  Vaya,  will  you  sell  the  place  or  will 
you  not?  Oh,  wretched  miser!  But  one  cannot  have 
a  hide  without  the  claws." 

The  poor  old  woman  halted  in  her  invocation.  She 
was  staring  at  her  hands  and  muttering,  because  the 
noise  had  caused  her  to  forget  how  often  she  had  said 
the  name  of  Jesus.  And  she  looked  upon  those  people 
with  reproachful  eyes. 

"Well,  how  much  will  you  sell  it  for?"  cried  one. 


284    THE  HOUSE  OF  THE  FIGHTING-COCKS 

"You  hold  yourself  as  if  you  had  the  place  by  merit? 
Have  you  ever  shot  a  gun  in  all  your  life?" 

"And  which  of  you  can  shoot  indeed?  Aha,"  de- 
clared the  tall  man,  "you  will  not  insult  me  very  easily. 
Now  I  must  go  and  talk  to  the  alcalde.  Will  you  let 
me  pass  along?" 

They  clustered  round  him,  so  that  he  could  not 
escape,  and  while  he  shouted  they  were  shouting  back. 
The  poor  old  woman,  in  the  meantime,  rolled  away  to 
a  more  quiet  place. 

"Fucha!"  called  a  voice,  "then  I  will  pay  two 
ounces  and  Angel  two.    What  do  you  say?" 

He  looked  thoughtful.  And  again  they  all  spoke  at 
the  same  time;  but  before  they  went  away  it  had  been 
settled  that  he  should  receive  four  ounces  and  that 
those  two  persons  should  have  his  place  in  the  firing- 
party. 

I  went  hastily  to  where  I  had  been  speaking  with  my 
master,  but  he  was  not  in  the  dungeon  and  the  other 
two  were  not  there  either.  As  I  peered  in  through  the 
bars  I  saw  that  it  was  empty,  and  I  could  see  very  well 
because  some  light  was  entering  by  the  open  door  in 
the  wall  opposite.  Two  followers  of  Bustamante  hap- 
pened to  be  going  past,  and  when  they  saw  me  they 
inquired  if  ghosts  were  living  in  that  cellar.  And  they 
laughed  at  me  and  crossed  themselves. 

But  when  I  asked  them  eagerly  for  news  of  Don 
Eugenio  and  the  others,  they  explained  that  we  were 
to  assemble  in  a  field  outside  the  village.  They  would 
show  me  where  it  lay. 

And  on  the  road  they  asked  me  who  I  was  and 
where  I  came  from  and  where  I  was  going  to.  They 
asked  me  many  other  questions  in  a  kindly  way  and 
did  not  seem  to  mind  the  vagueness  of  my  answers, 
if  indeed  I  answered  them  at  all.     We  overtook  3 


THE  HOUSE  OF  THE  FIGHTING-COCKS    285 

number  of  pedestrians  and  several  men  on  horseback — 
these  were  the  officials — and  at  last  we  came  into  a 
field  from  which  the  mist  had  not  all  gone,  though  it 
was  very  warm  already.  In  the  next  field,  so  they 
told  me,  I  would  find  my  friends  who  had  been  brought 
there  by  an  escort.  But  as  I  ran  on  I  saw  that  in  the 
middle  of  the  field  my  master  and  the  Noahcite  were 
sitting  on  a  pile  of  stones ;  Faustino  stood  beside  them 
and  the  escort  was  a  long  way  off.  Since  it  is 
customary  for  a  man  in  Mexico  to  make  a  speech 
before  they  shoot  him,  whether  he  is  guilty  of  a  crime 
or  whether  he  has  been  a  politician,  they  had  all  retired 
from  Don  Arcadio  and  the  others,  so  that  he  could 
make  his  preparations  for  a  worthy  speech.  When  I 
came  up  to  them  my  master  motioned  me  to  sit  down 
at  his  side. 

Faustino  happened  to  be  speaking,  in  a  tone  of  grim 
determination:  "They  shall  pay  for  it,"  said  he, 
"and  they  shall  pay  a  hundred-fold.  The  birds 
shall  .  .  ." 

"Thank  you,  thank  you,"  interrupted  Don  Arcadio, 
"you  have  been  more  than  faithful  to  me,  dear 
Faustino,  during  all  these  years,  and  you  would  never 
rest,  I  know,  until  you  had  avenged  me.  But  how 
ugly  is  the  thought  of  vultures  tearing  up  the  flesh  of 
Bustamante.  And  I  want  my  last  thoughts  to  be 
turned  towards  the  beautiful.  Have  I  not  told  you 
that  it  is  no  longer  happiness  but  beauty  which  I  am 
pursuing." 

"My  dear  friend,"  said  Don  Eugenio,  "I  used  to 
think  that  you  were  mad,  but  now  I  think  it  is  with  a 
celestial  madness,  and  that  God  is  talking  through  you. 
Otherwise  how  could  you  at  this  last,  when  you  are 
going  to  lose  your  life,  go  so  serenely  on  a  new  pur- 
suit?" 


286    THE  HOUSE  OF  THE  FIGHTING-COCKS 

"But  I  have  found  life!"  Don  Arcadio  cried.  "He 
who  has  turned  his  eyes  to  that  which  is  worth  more 
than  life  itself,  he  surely  has  found  life!" 

My  master  had  been  weeping,  but  a  smile  now 
flickered  on  his  face. 

"It  seems  to  me,"  said  Don  Arcadio,  "that  we  shall 
not  discover  what  life's  beauty  is  if  we  believe  that 
it  lies  in  the  loveliness  and  strength  of  body  or  in 
loveliness  and  brilliance  of  the  mind.  The  beauty  of 
our  life  is  in  pursuing  with  the  greatest  zeal  that 
beauty  which  is  out  beyond  us  and  which  we  can  never 
reach.  I  say  it  wants  the  greatest  zeal,  because  a 
glimpse  of  everlasting  beauty  may  well  bring  the  tears 
into  our  eyes.  You,  my  dear  friend,"  said  he,  his 
hand  on  Don  Eugenio's  arm,  "what  were  you  weeping 
for?  .  .  .  But  I  will  leave  you  for  a  little  time,"  he 
said. 

And  as  he  walked  away  from  us  towards  another 
rock  and  there  sat  down,  a  hundred  paces  off,  I  could 
not  keep  myself  from  shuddering.  His  words  I  had 
not  understood,  but  I  was  thinking  of  that  most 
abominable  firing-party  which  would  utterly  destroy 
the  beauty  of  his  body. 

Then  my  master  clenched  his  fist  and  looked  up 
at  Faustino,  and  "By  all  the  holy  saints,"  he  said, 
"that  man  shall  not  be  killed.  We  must  prevent 
it!" 

But  Faustino  threw  his  hands  out. 

"We  must  talk  to  them.  There  may  be  something 
noble  left  in  Bustamante." 

"May  the  vultures  tear  it  out,"  Faustino  said,  in 
bitterness. 

"I  tell  you,"  said  my  master,  "if  I  have  to  give 
myself  instead  of  him,  I  do  not  care.  But  Don 
Arcadio  shall  not  be  killed.    Just  when  he  has  become 


THE  HOUSE  OF  THE  FIGHTING-COCKS    287 

a   sane   man,   after  all   these  years.    And  he   is  so 
divinely  sane.    He  shall  not,  shall  not  die." 
We  heard  the  quavering  voice  of  that  old  woman: 

''Get  thee,  Satan,  far  from  me, 
Near  my  death-bed  thou  shalt  not  be, 
Seeing  that  .  .  ." 

"Oh,  what  can  I  do?"  cried  Don  Eugenio.  "This 
is  a  most  wretched  country." 

"And  he  has  not  been  confessed,"  Faustino  said,  in 
desolation.    "Oh,  what  can  I  do?" 

The  voice  of  the  old  woman  still  continued: 

"Of  Holy  Cross  I  used  to  say 
A  thousand  times  Jesus.  Jesus, 
Jesus  .  .  ." 

"Ah,  look  there!"  cried  Faustino.    "Look  at  them!" 

A  mob  of  people,  some  on  foot  and  some  on  horse- 
back, was  advancing  towards  us.  It  was  a  large  crowd, 
though  I  could  not  see  distinctly  for  the  sun  was  daz- 
zling. It  had  burst  through  the  last  fragments  of  the 
mist  and  nobody,  I  think,  could  have  avoided  seeing 
that  it  was  a  warrior  much  more  gay  and  splendid 
than  those  countrymen  of  ours  whom  it  endeavored  to 
conceal  from  us. 

Don  Eugenio  whispered  to  me  that  I  was  to  run  into 
the  village  and  bring  out  the  priest.  He  knew  there 
was  none,  but  he  did  not  wish  me  to  remain  there. 

And  as  I  was  racing  back  towards  the  village  I  was 
shouting  at  the  sunlight,  I  was  laughing  at  it — so 
Maria  told  me  later  on — and  I  was  running  with  my 
head  now  this  way,  so  she  told  me,  and  now  that,  as 
if  I  were  afraid  of  being  struck. 


CHAPTER  XXI 

Maria  told  me  many  other  things  while  she  was  sit- 
ting on  my  bed.  I  was  so  feeble  and  so  happy  that  I 
did  not  even  want  to  know  why  I  was  there.  It  was 
sufficient  that  Maria  should  be  smiling  down  upon  me, 
and  her  smile  was  drawing  me  out  of  a  dark  abyss 
...  I  do  not  like  those  people  who  will  not  acknowl- 
edge how  profound  a  love  they  have  for  any  friend 
until  they  lose  him,  but  I  am  not  sure  if  you  do  not 
look  more  profoundly  into  anybody's  heart  if  you  your- 
self are  nearly  lost.  When  you  are  lying  there  so 
prostrate  and  so  feeble,  vv^hen  you  have  let  your  little 
energies  and  obstinacies  slip  away  from  you,  then  you 
no  longer  set  up  a  resistance  to  the  love  which  from 
the  heart  of  the  dear  friend  is  pouring  over  you.  How 
strange  it  is  that  when  your  body  is  so  powerless  you 
should  be  far  more  likely  to  perceive  what  a  tre- 
mendous and  eternal  power  the  wings  of  love  can  grant 
to  you.  It  is  a  fact — such  is  our  country — that  a 
Mexican  has  often  said  to  a  beloved  person  that  his 
feeling  for  her  is  unparalleled  in  all  the  universe.  We 
Mexicans  may  have  the  Spanish  blood  in  us  diluted  or 
imaginary,  but  all  that  does  not  diminish  in  the  least 
some  Spanish  traits — and  they  believed  that  what  they 
said  was  true  and  often  the  beloved  person  also  thought 
that  it  was  true — what  would  you  more?  But  as  for 
me,  I  must  say  that  I  did  not  know  how  great  a  love 
there  was  between  Maria  and  myself  until  those  days 
in  San  Geronimo.    It  was  the  weakness  of  my  body 

288 


THE  HOUSE  OF  THE  FIGHTING-COCKS    289 

and  my  growing  love  which  hindered  me  from  paying 
much  attention  to  the  words  she  said.  I  did  not  greatly 
mind  what  accident  had  brought  me  to  that  room,  so 
long  as  I  could  happily  remain  there. 

It  was  a  bare  room,  like  any  other,  and  from  time 
to  time  the  owners  of  the  house — an  oldish  couple — 
would  come  in  and  look  at  me  and  gravely  nod 
their  heads.  But  all  my  food  was  brought  me  by 
Maria. 

And  one  day  she  said  that  Don  Eugenio  was  l5^ng 
in  another  house.  Both  he  and  I  were  getting  well 
again,  she  said.  It  was  the  death  of  Don  Arcadio 
which  had  overwhelmed  us. 

"For  a  week  or  so,"  quoth  she,  "poor  Don  Eugenio 
was  worse  than  you.  We  had  to  rope  him  to  the  bed. 
And  in  the  middle  of  his  imprecations,  which  were 
terrible,  he  laughed  and  sang  together — as  you  did 
yourself  when  you  were  running  down  the  street  before 
that  execution." 

I  remembered  in  a  flash  about  the  vultures  that 
Faustino  spoke  of,  and  I  prayed  that  they  might  feast 
on  Bustamante. 

But  Maria  said  that  Bustamante  had  permitted  her 
to  nurse  the  pair  of  us.  "One  must  not  be  ungrateful," 
said  Maria.  "And  he  never  punished  Don  Eugenio," 
she  said,  "for  any  of  the  fearful  things  he  uttered. 
Don  Eugenio  has  been  calling  down  on  Bustamante's 
head  a  list  of  punishments  that  we  in  Mexico  had  never 
heard  of  and  he  cursed  him  with  round  Spanish  oaths, 
or  else  they  may  have  been  from  learned  books;  at  any 
rate  the  people  who  were  loitering  outside  the  house 
could  listen  easily,  and  what  he  said  was  carried  up  to 
Bustamante,  if  by  chance  he  was  not  present.  All  I 
recollect,"  pursued  Maria,  "are  two  words:  Anathema 
sit!    Whatever  he  might  say  he  ended  up  with  those 


290    THE  HOUSE  OF  THE  FIGHTING-COCKS 

two  words.  And  there  is  in  the  town^  which  is  three 
hours  away,  a  diligent  young  schoolmaster.  He  left 
his  school  and  came  here  on  a  horse,  and  now  he  stays 
with  Don  Eugenio,  putting  down  those  imprecations 
on  a  piece  of  paper.  He  is  one  who  studies  everything, 
and  now  he  will  not  leave  where  Don  Eugenio  is,  but 
with  the  spectacles  upon  his  long,  thin  nose  he  gazes 
at  him,  and  he  waits  for  words." 

"But  is  my  master  still  in  the  same  state?"  said  I. 
"You  told  me  he  was  getting  well  again." 

"Because  he  curses,"  said  Maria.  "For  a  time  he 
was  quite  gentle,  he  was  humble  and  devout,  so  that 
we  were  afraid  that  he  was  going  to  die.  But  now,  the 
gods  be  thanked,  he  has  returned  to  imprecations,  and 
it  is  a  certain  sign  that  he  is  getting  well.  As  soon  as 
you  are  strong  enough,  my  Juanito,  you  shall  come 
with  me  to  listen.  They  are  all  so  full  of  admiration 
in  that  room  and  very  happy — it  is  like  an  entertain- 
ment— all  except  one  man,  who  is  severe  and  says  that 
Don  Eugenio,  if  he  should  die  in  this  condition,  will 
be  lost  for  ever.  But  the  schoolmaster  is  fighting  with 
that  man.  He  loves  our  Don  Eugenio  because  of  his 
great  language,  and  he  also  says  that  he  is  very  like 
the  early  Christians,  who  were  careful,  first  of  all,  in 
their  assemblies  to  consign  the  pagans  and  the  heretics 
to  execration  and  to  physical  chastisement,  or  if  these 
should  not  be  brought  about,  then  to  damnation  for 
eternity." 

"I  wish,"  said  I,  "that  we  could  go  to  Don 
Eugenio." 

"And  then  he  laughed  and  sang  and  prayed,  but 
always  in  delirium.  And  then  one  day  he  sobbed 
unceasingly,  and  after  that  he  was  quite  humble — it 
was  then  we  thought  that  he  would  die.  You  should 
have  heard  him  singing  the  old  Litany: 


THE  HOUSE  OF  THE  FIGHTING-COCKS     291 

'Kyrie,  eleison. 
Christe,  eleison. 
Kyrie,  eleison.' 

"He  was  a  little  out  of  breath,  but  while  he  paused  we 
others  sang  the  next  piece  very  heartily: 

'Christe,  audi  nos. 
Christe,  exaudi  nos. 
Pater  de  ccelis  Deus, 

miserere  nobis.' 

"While  we  were  singing  that  he  beat  the  time.  And 
he  went  on  alone : 

'Fili,  Redemptor  mundi  Deus, 

miserere  nobis. 

Spiritus  Sancte  Deus, 

miserere  nobis. 

Sancta  Trinitas,  unus  Deus, 

miserere  nobis.' 

"The  schoolmaster,  who  led  our  singing,  feared  that 
Don  Eugenio  would  wear  himself  away.  'Dear  Sir,' 
said  he,  'let  us  proceed  now  to  the  end  of  it.  A  man 
may  die  of  singing  just  as  well  as  of  .  .  .' 

"'What  a  glorious  death!'  said  Don  Eugenio,  and 
he  went  on: 

'Sancta  Maria,  ora  pro  nobis. 
Sancta  Dei  Genitrix,  ora  pro  nobis.' 

Another  sort  of  smile  came  over  him.  'A  glorious 
death!'  said  he.  'That  woman  who  was  rushing  up 
and  down  the  corridor — it  was  a  good  inn  of  Castile 
and  I  was  coming  from  the  capital — ah,  years  ago. 
Well,  she  was  rushing  up  and  down — and  do  you  know 


292    THE  HOUSE  OF  THE  FIGHTING-COCKS 

what  sort  of  traveler  was  lying  in  her  room,  and  dead?' 

"  'I  do  not  know/  said  the  severe  man.  'I  am  very 
much  surprised  at  your  behavior.' 

"  'It  was  years  ago,'  said  Don  Eugenio,  'and,  more- 
over, I  did  nothing.  She  ran  up  and  down  the  corridor 
as  if  she  were  distracted.  She  was  making  very  wild 
and  incoherent  sounds — I  put  my  head  out — she  was 
in  her  night-attire  and  barefoot.  When  I  urged  her  to 
be  calm,  to  tell  me  calmly  what  had  happened,  she 
could  not  control  herself;  but  finally  she  said  that  Don 
Fulano,  who  was  old,  was  lying  on  her  bed,  a  corpse.' 

"  'It  would  be  well,'  said  the  severe  man,  'if  you 
would  remember  that  you  may  yourself  at  any  moment 
be  a  corpse.' 

"  'And  when  they  arose  early  in  the  morning,'  said 
Don  Eugenio,  'behold,  they  were  all  dead  corpses.' 

"I  believe  he  was  repeating  this  from  Holy  Scripture. 

"  'Well,'  said  he,  'I  told  the  woman  that  she  was 
disturbing  every  one  and  that  it  would  be  better  if  she 
came  with  me  to  the  proprietor,  as  I  myself  did  not 
know  what  to  do  in  such  a  case.  While  we  were  going 
she  continued  with  her  lamentations,  and  while  I  was 
knocking  at  the  door  of  the  proprietor  she  moaned;, 
and  yet  he  did  not  hear  us,  for  he  had  a  heavy  sleep. 
I  knocked,'  said  Don  Eugenio,  'more  loudly,  so  that 
he  awakened  and  replied.  I  told  him  what  had  hap- 
pened and  I  asked  him  what  we  ought  to  do,  but  he 
said  only:  "Glorious  death!"  and  then  rolled  over  on 
his  side  and  went  to  sleep  again.' 

"The  telling  of  this  tale,"  pursued  Maria,  "caused 
him  to  forget  how  weak  he  was."  If  he  had  not  been 
weak,  thought  I,  he  would  not  have  recited  such  a 
mediocre  tale;  but  on  the  other  hand  my  master's  life 
was  lovely,  like  a  flower  that  blooms  and  fades,  not  like 
the  painting  of  a  flower. 


THE  HOUSE  OF  THE  FIGHTING-COCKS    293 

"But  as  he  finished  it/'  quoth  Maria,  "he  lay  there 
with  his  eyes  shut,  smiling  faintly.  Thereupon  the 
schoolmaster  said  that  he  need  not,  anyhow,  sing  all  the 
litany,  he  might  sing  the  conclusion  of  it.  Don 
Eugenio  did  not  answer  him,  but  only  frowned.  He 
said  again  that  Don  Eugenio  might  omit  the  rest,  and 
your  good  master  said  that  he  was  very  sorry  he  could 
not  so  much  as  reach  the  'Mater  immaculata,'  and  it 
was  a  hundred  years  ago  exactly,  so  he  said,  it  was  in 
1 766  that  Pope  Clement  XIII  granted  Spain  the  privi- 
lege of  adding  this  after  the  'Mater  intemerata.'  What 
a  man  is  Don  Eugenio!" 

"There  cannot  be  in  all  the  world,"  I  said,  "a  more 
delightful  and  more  gracious  soul.  If  you  and  I, 
Maria,"  so  I  said,  "can  see  how  excellent  a  man  he  is, 
you  may  be  sure  that  if  we  had  the  understanding  we 
should  see  much  more  than  that.  And  we  shall  never 
meet  with  any  one  who  equals  him  in  grandeur  or  in 
charm  of  thought,  who  can  surpass  him  for  gay  wis- 
dom and  for  real  virtue.  He  does  not,  like  many 
others,  feign  to  be  more  wicked  than  God  made 
him  .  .  ." 

"Juanito,  my  dear  love,"  she  murmured. 

I  was  like  a  stone  from  which  a  fire  was  leaping,  and 
I  had  not  known  that  it  was  in  me.  But  this  world 
is  a  good  place,  I  think,  because  it  may  be  given  to  us 
once  or  twice  to  come  in  contact  with  a  person  who 
will  make  us  live. 

".  .  .  and  he  never,"  I  continued,  "injured  any  one, 
you  may  be  sure,  except  himself.  All  other  men  he 
is  prepared  to  serve — he  is  a  river  which  brings  to  the 
land  its  fruitfulness  and  rolls  along  beneath  the  wil- 
lows, meditating,  and  which  flings  itself  down  cataracts 
in  laughter.  Yes,  that  is  our  Don  Eugenio;  and  in  the 
daytime  he  reflects  what  is  in  heaven  and  earth,  like 


294    THE  HOUSE  OF  THE  FIGHTING-COCKS 

one  of  those  clear  streams,  and  in  the  night  he  is  the 
brother  of  old  darkness  and  the  stars." 

Maria  was  still  sitting  on  my  bed.  And  now  she 
threw  herself  into  my  arms.  "How  splendidly  you 
speak!"  said  she. 

When  I  could  speak  again  I  pointed  out  that  every- 
thing which  I  possessed  had  come  from  Don  Eugenio. 

"My  dear  one,  my  most  Holy  Sacrament,  my  little 
lamp  of  olive  oil ! "  said  she. 

We  stayed  there  for  a  time  in  happiness,  and  later 
on  she  said  that  if  I  had  the  strength  I  might  go  with 
her  to  the  house  where  Don  Eugenio  lay.  And,  leaning 
on  her  arm,  I  went  there — fortunately  it  was  not  far 
distant. 

In  the  room  was  Don  Eugenio,  fastened  to  the  bed 
with  ropes,  and  he  was  talking  vehemently.  Several 
persons  whom  I  had  not  seen  before  were  round  about 
him,  and  Faustino  was  there  also,  looking  most 
dejected. 

When  my  master  saw  me  he  broke  off  in  his  tirade 
and  "Oh,  you  villainous  young  man!"  he  cried.  "You 
that  have  forged  the  Apostolic  Letters  and  that  gave 
a  judgment  which  was  odiously  unjust  and  stole  my 
concubine.  You  have  adulterated  food  and  drink,  you 
have  uprooted  all  the  boundary-stones  and  so  you  shall, 
I  vow  you  shall,  be  punished  by  canonical  and  civil 
law.  What  have  you  done?"  He  glared  at  me.  "And 
why?  Carajo,  tell  me,  monster  of  ingratitude,  the  boy 
I  loved— the— the  .  .  ." 

A  man — he  was  the  schoolmaster — made  signs  to  me 
that  I  should  go.  Maria  likewise  had  been  thinking 
that  it  would  be  better,  and  she  pulled  me  out  into  the 
open  air.  She  told  me  that  I  need  not  feel  uneasy  as 
to  anything;  his  violence  was  one  of  the  best  symp- 
toms and  would  soon  subside. 


THE  HOUSE  OF  THE  FIGHTING-COCKS    295 

We  started  walking  round  the  house,  and  underneath 
a  window,  sitting  on  the  ground,  was  Bustamante.  He 
was  stroking  his  mustache. 

He  was  amused  to  see  me.  "You  and  I,"  said  he, 
"we  are  the  objects  of  his  hatred.  But  you  seem  to 
care!  He  is  a  lunatic  at  present.  It  is  nothing, 
Juanito.  It  will  pass  away,  and  that  reminds  me,  I  am 
going  to-morrow." 

"Juanito  has  been  very  ill,"  Maria  said,  "and  he 
cannot  be  without  me  yet." 

"Ah,  well,  he  shall  have  the  best  of  all  our  horses, 
after  mine,  and  you  shall  have  a  good  one,"  Busta- 
mante said.  And,  turning  with  a  pleasant  smile  to  me, 
he  added  that  he  liked  me  and  that  he  would  charge 
himself  with  looking  after  me.  "To-morrow  we  must 
march  towards  the  north,"  he  said,  "for  that  is  what 
Juarez  orders." 

And  by  this  time  Don  Eugenio  was  less  furious. 
We  could  hear  him  talking  with  determination:  "It  is 
like  a  storm  and  we  are  being  blown  about.  It  is  a 
stormy  world,"  said  he. 

"May  God  protect  us,"  said  Faustino. 

"Yes,  but  I  would  rather  swim  among  the  waves 
which  throw  you  here  and  there,  and  fling  you  down 
and  scream  at  you  and  fight  with  you  than  I  would 
swim  in  a  calm,  placid  sea.  Oh,  it  is  splendid  to  be 
fighting!"  said  my  master. 

"God  protect  you,"  said  Faustino. 

"From  iniquity  and  evil  thoughts,"  said  Don 
Eugenio.  "It  seems  to  me  that  I  was  talking  with 
great  roughness — was  it  against  Bustamante?  Well, 
he  did  us  wrong.  But,  nevertheless,  if  anybody  mur- 
ders me  I  hope  that  I  will  say:  'God  be  your 
judge.' " 


296    THE  HOUSE  OF  THE  FIGHTING-COCKS 

"Amen.  That  is,"  Faustino  said,  "if  God  will  judge 
him  better  than  they  do  in  Mexico." 

"Do  not  be  blasphemous,"  said  the  severe  man,  in 
a  rasping  voice,  "God  is  the  judge  of  all  the  world. 
He  is  immeasurably  better  than  all  other  judges." 

"That  is  true,"  Faustino  said,  "but  why  does  He 
leave  Mexico  to  them?" 

And  for  a  time  Faustino,  the  severe  man,  Don 
Eugenio,  and  some  others  were  disputing,  and  one  could 
not  profit  much  by  listening  to  them.  Bustamante 
asked  Maria  and  myself  to  go  with  him  down  to  the 
stables,  so  that  we  could  see  the  horses  he  intended  us 
to  have.  I  would  have  pleaded  with  him  that  we  might 
remain  at  San  Geronimo,  I  would  if  necessary  have 
defied  him,  for  I  loathed  the  very  thought  of  going, 
but  Maria  looked  into  my  eyes,  and  off  we  went.  And 
when  we  reached  the  stables,  Bustamante  was  most 
gracious;  he  assisted  us  to  mount  those  admirable 
horses,  and  he  said  that  if  we  liked  we  could,  in  order 
to  get  used  to  them,  go  for  a  ride  round  San  Geronimo. 

So  we  proceeded  for  some  distance  down  a  shady 
road,  and  then  Maria  turned  up  through  a  wood  of 
palms  and  other  trees,  and  after  coming  to  the  ridge 
we  went  along  it.  Underneath  us,  to  the  right,  we  saw 
the  gayly-colored  church  of  San  Geronimo,  and  there 
was  also  the  alcalde's  house.  Maria  told  me  that  I 
never  would  see  San  Geronimo  again,  because  we  two 
were  going  to  escape.  I  trembled  with  excitement  and 
with  love  for  her,  but  how  could  I  leave  Don  Eugenio? 
And  then  she  said  that  Bustamante  certainly  would 
leave  him,  as  he  was  too  ill  to  travel.  We  would  all 
be  joined  together  later  on,  she  said. 

Well,  there  was  nothing  for  me  but  to  go  with  her. 
I  think  she  must  have  somehow  learned  about  the 
country,  for  she  never  showed  the  slightest  hesitation, 


THE  HOUSE  OF  THE  FIGHTING-COCKS    297 

and  she  said  that  we  were  on  the  road  to  Colorado. 
She  had  thought  of  everything,  how  we  would  live 
together  in  my  native  village,  and  how  Don  Eugenio 
would  come  to  live  with  us.  To  her  it  all  seemed  very 
simple  and  I  will  confess  that  when  we  tied  our  horses 
up  and  rested  in  the  middle  of  a  wood,  I  was  as  ready 
as  Maria  to  rejoice  in  what  was  going  to  happen.  It 
would  be  delicious  to  have  Don  Eugenio  sitting  always 
happily  on  the  veranda  of  my  home.  And  what  an 
honor  for  my  parents !  Then  Maria  said  she  knew  my 
mother  would  receive  her  very  well,  since  she  had  saved 
me  from  becoming  one  of  Bustamante's  followers. 

And,  thanks  to  Bustamante's  horses,  we  achieved 
the  journey  in  three  days,  and  you  can  easily  imagine 
the  reception  that  we  had.  Old  Captain  Bartolme  was 
just  outside  the  village,  sitting  there  amid  a  cluster  of 
white  flowers  as  if  he  knew  that  we  were  coming. 
And  he  told  us  with  a  candid  smile  that  my  good 
parents  had  invited  him  to  make  his  home  with  them, 
because  he  was  acquainted  with  so  many  stories  of  my 
doings  in  Jalapa.  If  they  had  not  shown  him  this 
great  hospitality,  he  said,  then  his  old  age  would  have 
been  wretched,  since  the  woman  Enriqueta  had  trans- 
ferred her  faithfulness,  he  said,  to  her  old  friend  Gon- 
zalez of  the  shop. 

While  he  was  talking  to  us  a  few  other  people  gath- 
ered round,  and  he  assumed  an  air  of  big  importance, 
for  he  had  been  with  us  in  Jalapa.  Thus  he  was  too 
busy  to  inquire  about  the  Noahcite  or  Don  Eugenio. 
He  said  that  now  we  would  advance  into  the  village 
and  he  marched,  with  pomp,  in  front  of  our  two  horses. 
He  did  not  appear  to  have  misgivings  as  to  his  position 
at  my  parents'  hearth  now  that  I  had  returned.  It 
seemed  to  me  as  if  the  poor  old  man  who  strutted  there 
in  front  of  us  so  proudly  should  have  held  himself 


298    THE  HOUSE  OF  THE  FIGHTING-COCKS 

more  like  a  captive  who  is  well  aware  that  by  the 
Ley  de  Fuga  those  who  are  behind  will  shoot  him  down 
for  trying  to  escape  and  even  if  he  does  not  try  to  do  so. 

In  the  first  words  that  my  parents  uttered  I  was  told 
how  they  had  promised  to  the  wonder-working  Virgin 
of  Chichicaxtle  that^  if  I  came  back  again  to  Colorado, 
they  would  not  attempt  to  make  me  a  learned  man 
above  my  station,  but  that,  on  the  contrary,  they  would 
persuade  me  to  become  a  breeder  of  the  fighting-cocks. 
And  that  is  what  I  have  been  doing  ever  since. 

A  few  days  after  my  return  I  traveled  with  my 
father  and  Maria  to  the  cursed  village  San  Geronimo. 
Our  object  was,  of  course,  to  fetch  my  master;  but  he 
was  not  in  the  village.  Nobody  could  tell  us  whither 
he  had  gone,  and  he  had  left  no  message  for  me.  All 
that  we  could  ascertain  was  that  he  and  Faustino  were 
still  in  the  village  after  Bustamante  left. 

Perhaps  he  found  a  pleasant  refuge  here  in  Mexico, 
perhaps  he  and  Faustino  have  been  wandering  for  all 
these  years,  perhaps  he  went  to  Veracruz  and  took  the 
boat  for  Spain;  and  this  I  think  is  the  more  probable, 
as  he  would  otherwise  have  surely  come  to  Colorado. 
May  God  have  protected  him!  And  may  God  have 
provided  him — I  say  this  with  extreme  sincerity — a 
worthier  historian. 

Much  of  what  he  taught  me  I  have  not  remembered, 
much  of  his  delightful  conversation  has  now  vanished 
and  beyond  recall,  but  my  whole  life,  and  I  believe  the 
lives  of  those  around  me,  are  made  nobler  by  the  frail 
and  fading  recollections  of  him  that  I  still  possess. 


NOTE  I 

A  tale  extremely  similar  to  this  one  came  from  Northern 
France  in  the  year  191 6,  the  burial-party  being  British  and 
their  clients  German.  But  those  people  who  are  fond  of 
tracing  stories  to  their  Buddhist  source  will  certainly  not  be 
astonished  that  the  same  one  should  appear  in  our  time,  both 
in  Northern  France  and  Mexico.  It  may  be  that  some 
readers  will  be  interested  if  I  deal  with  that  part  of  the 
story — making  it  more  simple — which  depicts  the  man  deny- 
ing his  own  death  (the  "Mortuus  Loquens,"  as  he  is  called 
by  Poggio,  that  curious,  irascible  old  humanist),  and  if  I  try 
to  trace  a  step  or  two  of  its  career  down  to  our  army  and  to 
Mexico  from  the  original.  .  .  .  We  need  not  argue  here  if 
folk-tales  all  originate  in  India,  but  a  very  good  case  is  made 
out  by  Mr.  Clouston  {Popular  Tales  and  Fictions.  Edin- 
burgh, 2  vols.,  1887)  for  tracing  all  European  drolls  or 
comic  folk-tales  from  the  East.  Many  of  them,  as  Mr. 
Clouston  points  out,  can  be  found  in  the  early  Buddhist 
books,  especially  in  the  Jatakas  or  Birth-stories  which  are 
said  to  have  been  related  to  his  disciples  by  Gautama,  the 
illustrious  founder  of  Buddhism,  as  incidents  which  occurred 
to  himself  and  others  in  former  births,  and  were  afterwards 
put  into  a  literary  form  by  his  followers.  There  are  two 
old  stories  in  Ceylon  which  have  a  near  affinity  to  jests  of 
the  "Mortuus  Loquens"  class,  and  which  may  be  regarded  as 
in  the  straight  line  of  ancestry.  The  first  of  them  deals  with 
a  rich  man,  the  employer  of  twenty-five  idiots,  whose  daily 
task  it  was  to  cut  the  plaintain  leaves  from  which  the 
servants  ate  and  drank.  One  day  the  twenty-five  had  an 
idea  that  the  task  might  be  accomplished  easily  by  one  of 
them.  "Let  us  therefore  lie  down,"  they  said,  "on  the  soil 
and  sleep  like  dead  men,  and  let  him  who  first  utters  a  sound 
or  opens  his  eyes  undertake  the  work."  And  when  they 
were  discovered  in  that  state  the  master,  thinking  they  were 

299 


300    THE  HOUSE  OF  THE  FIGHTING-COCKS 

dead,  ordered  his  servants  to  dig  a  deep  hole  and  bury  them. 
A  grave  was  then  dug  and  the  idiots  were,  one  by  one, 
thrown  into  it;  and  when  they  were  being  covered  up  a  tool 
that  one  of  the  servants  was  using  hit  an  idiot  on  the  leg  so 
that  he  moaned.  Thereupon  all  the  others  exclaimed  "You 
were  the  first  to  utter  a  sound,  therefore  from  henceforth 
you  must  take  upon  yourself  the  duty  of  providing  the 
plaintain  leaves."  .  .  .  The  second  story  from  Ceylon  (cf.  a 
paper  on  "Comparative  Folk-lore,"  by  W.  Goonetilleke  in 
The  Orientalist,  1,  p.  122)  is  in  a  Hindu  work  entitled 
Bharataka  Dwatrinsati,  Thirty-two  tales  of  Mendicant 
Monks.  One  Dandaka,  a  monk,  is  cutting  the  bough  of  a 
tree  on  which  he  sits,  although  some  travelers  warn  him  that 
if  it  breaks  he  will  fall  down  and  be  killed.  Eventually  he 
does  fall  down  and  then  he  thinks  how  wise  the  travelers 
were,  since  everything  they  prophesied  has  come  to  pass; 
and  he  believes  that  he  is  dead.  His  comrades  carry  him 
towards  the  cremation-place,  and  at  a  spot  where  the  road 
branches  they  are  undecided  whether  to  go  to  the  right  or 
the  left,  and  in  the  midst  of  the  dispute  the  "dead"  monk 
says:  "Friends,  quarrel  not  among  yourselves;  when  I  was 
alive  I  always  went  by  the  left  road."  Then  some  of  them 
say:  "He  always  spoke  the  truth.  Let  us  therefore  take  the 
left  road."  Certain  passers-by  declare  that  they  are  going 
to  burn  a  man  who  is  not  dead.  The  monks  reply  that  he 
is  verily  a  corpse,  and  Dandaka  himself  persistently  asserts 
that  he  is  dead;  he  relates  with  the  most  solemn  protesta- 
tions the  prophecy  of  the  travelers  and  how  it  was  fulfilled 
.  .  .  From  the  East  the  tale  of  "Mortuus  Loquens"  would 
be  brought  to  Europe  by  Crusaders  or  by  Mongol  mission- 
aries or  by  other  travelers.  The  most  eminent  of  folk- 
lorists  are  arguing  the  point,  often  with  considerable  wit  and 
ferocity,  as  to  the  spread  of  Indo-European  tales,  but  how 
these  traveled  they  have  not  decided  yet,  nor  indeed  whether 
they  are  not  survivals  of  primitive  myths  and  legends,  the 
common  heritage  of  the  whole  Aryan  race.  However,  ^ye 
observe  that  the  Chinese  possess  a  variant  of  our  tale;  in 
the  Hsias  Lin  Kuang  Cki  collection  of  humorous  anecdotes 
there  is  a  story  of  a  man  who  spoke  when  he  should  have 


THE  HOUSE  OF  THE  FIGHTING-COCKS    301 

behaved  as  if  he  were  a  corpse.  The  author,  by  the  way, 
of  this  tale  is  unknown,  for  in  China  all  literature,  as  Pro- 
fessor Giles  points  out,  is  pure;  novels  and  stories  are  not 
classed  as  literature,  and  so  the  authors  of  such  works  have 
no  ambition  to  attach  their  names.  One  sees  in  consequence 
a  great  falling-off  from  what  may  be  regarded  as  the  national 
standard;  they  excuse  themselves  by  saying  that  the  tales 
portray  real  life  and  therefore  to  omit  the  ordinary  frailties 
of  mortals  would  be  to  produce  an  incomplete  and  inade- 
quate picture.  This  tale  is  concerned  with  a  woman  who, 
when  she  was  entertaining  a  paramour  during  the  absence 
of  her  husband,  was  startled  by  hearing  the  latter  knock  at 
the  house-door.  She  hurriedly  bundled  the  man  into  a  rice- 
sack,  which  she  concealed  in  a  corner  of  the  room ;  but  when 
her  husband  came  in  he  caught  sight  of  it  and  asked  in  a 
stern  voice:  "What  have  you  got  in  that  sack?"  His  wife 
was  too  terrified  to  answer;  and  after  an  awkward  pause, 
a  voice  from  the  sack  was  heard  to  say:  "Only  rice"  .  .  . 
With  regard  to  the  diffusion  of  these  Aryan  Household 
Tales  it  will  be  safer  if  we  do  not  cleave  to  any  school,  but 
if  we  hold  that  much  may  be  due  to  the  identity  everywhere 
of  early  fancy  and  something  as,  for  example,  Mr.  Andrew 
Lang  maintains,  to  transmission.  The  Aryan  people  has 
itself  been  scattered  widely,  from  Ceylon  to  Iceland ;  and  in 
Powell  and  Magnusson's  Legends  of  Iceland  (Second  series, 
p.  627)  there  is  another  variant  of  our  tale:  a  woman  makes 
her  husband  believe  that  he  is  dressed  in  fine  clothes  when 
he  is  naked;  another  persuades  her  husband  that  he  is  dead, 
and  as  he  is  being  carried  to  the  burial-ground  he  perceives 
the  naked  man  who  asserts  that  he  is  dressed,  and  in  reply 
to  him  exclaims:  "How  I  should  laugh  if  I  were  not  dead!" 
.  .  .  But  although  the  tale  may  thus  have  come  overland 
into  the  great  mass  of  German  and  Scandinavian  folk-lore, 
we  can  also  trace  it  more  easily  to  England  by  another 
route.  Traveling  with  the  Arabs  westward  it  assumed  that 
form  of  two  thieves  who  pretended  they  were  dead.  "I 
wonder,"  says  a  passer-by,  "which  of  the  two  died  first." 
"It  was  myself,"  says  one  of  them.  In  Turkey  of  the  four- 
teenth century  we  find  the  tale  attributed  to  the  Khoja 


302    THE  HOUSE  OF  THE  FIGHTING-COCKS 

Nasr-ed-Dur,  that  perfectly  historic  buffoon  who  was  in  close 
relation  to  Tamerlane,  the  wild  and  celebrated  conqueror. 
The  Khoja  is  said  to  have  asked  his  wife  what  the  signs 
are  by  which  a  man  is  known  to  be  dead.  She  told  him  that 
when  his  body  and  hands  are  cold,  then  he  is  dead.  It 
happened  that  one  very  wintry  day  he  was  ascending  a  hill, 
and  his  feet  and  hands  were  very  cold,  remembering  the 
words  of  his  wife,  he  thought  he  was  dead  and  laid  himself 
down  on  the  hill.  Meanwhile,  a  number  of  wolves  ap- 
proached his  donkey  and  tore  it  to  pieces,  so  that  the  Khoja 
cried  out:  "Oh,  ye  wolves,  eat  the  donkey,  for  the  owner  is 
dead ;  if  I  were  alive  be  sure  I  would  have  made  it  hot  for 
you!"  In  Borrow's  version  of  this  tale  {The  Turkish  Jester, 
Ipswich,  1884),  the  man  exclaims:  "The  ass  is  dead,  it 
seems,  and  not  the  master."  .  .  .  Going  further  westward 
the  Arabs  took  to  Spain  this  tale,  which  there  received  a 
characteristically  sardonic  twist.  It  is  applied  to  Andres 
Vesalius,  the  court-physician  of  Charles  V,  when  he  was 
dissecting  a  Spanish  cavalier  whom  he  had  attended  in  his 
illness.  When  Vesalius  thrust  his  knife  into  the  gentleman's 
bosom,  the  latter  shouted  so  that  it  was  seen  he  was  not 
dead,  but  very  soon  (cf.  Selected  Works  of  the  Friar  D. 
Benito  Jeronimo  Fey 00  of  Montenegro)  he  expired,  because 
the  blow  had  been  a  shrewd  one  .  .  .  But  while  repeating 
this  in  order  to  show  that  the  story  was  current  in  sixteenth 
century  Spain,  one  should  add  that  there  are  grounds  for 
supposing  that  it  was  applied  to  Vesalius  by  his  enemies. 
Throughout  his  life  of  fifty  years  the  founder  of  modern 
anatomy  was  forced  to  wrestle  with  the  prejudices  of  his 
age.  A  surgeon  of  the  Imperial  armies  before  he  was  twenty, 
he  was  not  allowed  to  dissect  a  corpse,  and  therefore  was 
obliged  to  haunt  the  Cemetery  of  the  Innocents  at  Paris  and 
to  struggle  with  the  dogs  upon  the  dunghills,  it  is  said,  for 
their  decaying  prey.  He  was  attacked  as  well  by  his  old 
master  Sylvius  in  a  fiery  pamphlet,  and  by  others  of  the 
school  of  Galen ;  and  it  is  alleged  that,  owing  to  his  misad- 
venture with  the  Spanish  cavalier,  the  Inquisition  ordered 
that  he  should  be  burned  alive,  and  that  this  penalty  was 
commuted  into  a  pilgrimage  to  Jerusalem.    However,  it  is 


THE  HOUSE  OF  THE  FIGHTING-COCKS    303 

much  more  likely  that  the  Inquisition  was  displeased  with 
him  because,  in  their  opinion,  he  did  works  of  magic,  and  it 
is  improbable  that  any  living  man  would  be  considered  dead 
by  the  wise  author  of  the  De  Corporis  humani  jabrica.  One 
fancies  that,  apart  from  any  pious  motives  which  he  may 
have  had,  the  pilgrimage  appealed  to  him  as  a  relief  from 
the  unending  persecution  which  he  suffered.  As  he  was 
returning,  to  assume  the  professorship  of  anatomy  at  Padua, 
his  boat  was  wrecked  and  he  succumbed  at  Zante  .  .  .  From 
Spain  the  "Mortuus  Loquens"  tale  would  naturally  be  trans- 
ferred to  Mexico  .  .  .  And  England,  which  may  have  been 
reached  through  the  German-Scandinavian  route,  was  ap- 
proached from  Italy,  where  Poggio  (who  seems  to  have  inter- 
cepted it  in  the  fifteenth  century  as  it  passed  from  Turkey 
to  Spain),  gave  such  a  reputation  to  all  kinds  of  stories, 
original  and  otherwise,  that  the  most  famous  authors  have 
made  themselves  his  channels  of  transmission.  Thus  the 
celebrated  Ming  tale.  No.  268  of  his  Facetice  or  Collection 
of  good  jokes  and  tales,  with  which  the  old  Florentine  had 
bantered  his  frequent  victim  Francesco  Filelfo,  is  repeated 
in  Rabelais,  in  the  Cent  Nouvelles  Nouvelles,  in  Ariosto,  in 
the  Ducento  Novelle  of  Celio  Malespini,  in  La  Fontaine  and 
elsewhere,  yet  none  of  them  acknowledged  their  indebted- 
ness to  Poggio — perhaps  they  wanted  the  tale  to  return  to 
the  wistful  vagueness  of  folk-lore,  perhaps  they  were  imbued 
with  the  afore-mentioned  Chinese  sentiment,  and,  while 
chivalrously  allowing  their  own  names  to  be  branded,  yet 
refused  to  reveal  the  name  of  the,  so  far  as  they  knew,  real 
author  of  this  totally  impure  and  hence  unliterary  tale. 
Some  authors,  on  the  other  hand,  who  do  refer  to  Poggio 
and  who  seem  to  us  more  honestly  out-spoken,  certainly 
are  quite  out-spoken:  Gesner  says  that  it  is  opus  turpissi- 
mum  et  aquis  incendioque  dignissimum,  while  the  Abbot 
Tritheme  and  Erasmus  (who  knew  how  to  admire  Poggio's 
erudition  and  style)  are  no  less  severe.  The  wandering  old 
scholar,  who  was  much  given  to  laughter  and  invective,  came 
back  to  his  own  town  and  was  upbraided  for  his  laxity  of 
morals;  he  decided  that  his  friends  should  not  appeal  to 
him  in  vain  and  that  he  would  henceforward  lead  a  regular 


304    THE  HOUSE  OF  THE  FIGHTING-COCKS 

existence.  So  he  put  aside  the  mistress  who  had  borne  him 
fourteen  children,  married  a  young  girl  and  wrote,  among 
other  works,  his  Facetix.  These  latter  circulated  all  through 
Italy,  France,  Spain,  Germany,  England;  they  were  read  by 
all  such  as  understood  Latin  and  were  thoroughly  appreci- 
ated, he  tells  us,  by  all  men  of  letters.  In  certain  of  the 
stories  there  is  no  obscenity,  and  this  applies  to  the  "Mor- 
tuus  Loquens,"  of  which  the  English  version  is  No.  48  of 
the  1567  edition  of  the  Mery  Tales  and  Quicke  Answers,  a 
jest-book  that  is  supposed  to  have  been  used  by  Shakespeare. 
We  are  told  of  "a  felowe  dwellynge  at  Florence,  called 
Nigniaca,  whiche  was  not  verye  wyse,  nor  all  a  foole,  but 
mery  and  iocunde."  A  party  of  young  men  persuaded  him 
that  he  was  sick,  that  he  was  dying,  finally  that  he  was 
dead.  And  when  they  were  carrying  his  bier  through  the 
city  a  taverner's  boy  uttered  a  very  harsh  judgment  upon 
the  corpse,  so  that  the  latter  put  his  head  out  and,  "I  wys, 
horeson,"  said  he,  "if  I  were  alyve  nowe,  as  I  am  dead,  I 
wolde  prove  the  a  false  Iyer  to  thy  face."  ...  So  we  have 
followed  the  story  in  some  of  its  variants  as  it  traveled  from 
the  East.  The  latest  manifestation  of  it  was  in  that  incident 
of  the  late  war;  and  if  the  German,  who  then  played  the 
part  of  "Mortuus  Loquens"  to  the  burial-party  and  ^denied 
his  death,  was  a  student  of  comparative  folk-lore,  he  must 
certainly  have  found  the  situation  of  surpassing  interest. 

H.  B. 


NOTE  II 

It  is  not  my  business  to  defend  Juanito  from  the  charge 
of  anachronism,  and  I  would  not  make  this  observation  here 
unless  I  thought  that  certain  critics,  who  have  either  over- 
looked or  tolerated  any  other  lapses  into  which  he  may  have 
fallen,  will  now  feel  obliged  to  register  a  protest.  They  will 
admit  that  C.  N.  Horsford  prepared  condensed  milk  by  the 
addition  of  lactose  in  1849,  ^Iso  that  commercially  success- 
ful milk  condensation  began  in  1856,  but  is  it  likely,  they 
will  ask,  that  Mexico  imported  such  an  article  as  early  as 
1866?  Well,  they  may  be  surprised  to  hear  what  luxuries 
were  sent  to  Maximilian  and  Carlota's  Court  and  thus  be- 
came the  fashion.  But  if  no  tins  of  milk  had  gone  by  1866 
and  if  therefore  Juanito's  account  of  the  above  incident  is 
somewhat  inaccurate,  one  may  remind  the  critic  that  the 
great  Diccionario  Enciclopedico  Hispano-Americano  (Barce- 
lona, 1887)  does  not  treat  this  quality  of  his  with  harsh- 
ness. It  explains  that  an  anachronism  is  produced  by  vari- 
ous causes,  such  as  either  the  author's  ignorance,  which  is 
often  justifiable,  or  else  his  wish  to  satisfy  the  taste  of  an 
ill-educated  public,  or  else  the  levity  which  commonly  arises 
from  the  very  traits  that  are  essential  to  those  people  who 
devote  themselves  to  writing  works  of  the  imagination. 
Anachronisms,  it  adds,  are  a  very  grave  and  unbearable 
defect  in  didactic  treatises,  whereas  in  literature,  and  above 
all  if  unaccompanied  by  other  and  more  serious  faults,  they 
have  a  very  secondary  importance.  Then  there  is  Quintana 
(1772-1857)  who  maintains  that  authors  show  by  their  oc- 
casional anachronisms  how  they  are  possessed  of  the  two 
sterling  attributes:  facility  and  abandon.  We  shall  attach 
the  proper  weight  to  this  opinion  if  we  recollect  that  Manuel 
Jose  Quintana  was  not  only  a  great  poet  but  a  most  illus- 
trious historian.  Majestic  in  his  narrative  as  Livy,  pro- 
found as  Tacitus  in  judging  man  and  the  event,  dexterous 

305 


3o6    THE  HOUSE  OF  THE  FIGHTING-COCKS 

as  Sallust  in  his  methods  of  assembling  these  and  placing 
them  in  relief,  this  indefatigable  gentleman  was  famous, 
among  many  other  things,  for  having  reached  perfection  in 
the  matter  of  good  taste. 

H.  B. 


Sm'i^.^^.^f'^'o.., 


A     000 


\m^K^  F/^r:„j 


043  691 


